


Three-Star Wars

by jesuisbetejesuispatissiere



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crack, Food, Hints of Luke Skywalker/Wedge Antilles, Humor, M/M, Top Chef!AU, alternative universe, but in the Star Wars universe, everybody is a chef, hints of stormpilot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisbetejesuispatissiere/pseuds/jesuisbetejesuispatissiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>General Hux is ill at ease. He has a cooking contest to win against the kitchen brigade of the Petite Résistance, but he also has to manage the mood swings of his own colleague, Kylo Ren, descendant of a long line of legendary chefs. Kylux with a dash of Luke/Wedge and possibly a hint of Stormpilot later on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [La Guerre des Etoilés](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024307) by [jesuisbetejesuispatissiere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisbetejesuispatissiere/pseuds/jesuisbetejesuispatissiere). 



> Translation by the collective forces of La Brigade:  
> [verybadhedgehog](http://verybadhedgehog.tumblr.com) (odd-numbered chapters, grill)  
> [kyluxchef](http://kyluxchef.tumblr.com) (even-numbered chapters, pastry)  
> [eridaniepsilon](http://eridaniepsilon.tumblr.com) (franco beta, sauces)  
> [acroamatica](http://acroamatica.tumblr.com) (anglo beta and code formatter, garnishes)
> 
> Thank you so so so much to every single one of you for your hard work. You are THE BEST!

Back straight and eyes fixed on the middle distance, General Hux tried to ignore both the circus surrounding him, and the hell that awaited him. He would have loved to be able to sigh, turn on his heels and go back to his room, but he wasn’t the sort of man who let people see when he was struggling. Instead, he was going to do what he knew best: take the situation in hand, and manage things so that they’d once again come out on top.

This wasn’t his first time taking part in a culinary tournament. Not by a long way. In fact, his whole culinary career had been punctuated by tournaments and competitions, which he usually won with ease. But here the circumstances were different. This wasn’t just his own career in play, but the whole reputation of the Finalizer. And though this mighty vessel had always been considered the best restaurant in the galaxy, it was attracting a growing number of critics and haters.

Everyone knew Chef Snoke was getting old, and his presence in the kitchen was no more than symbolic these days. There were whispers that this fact was starting to have an effect on the quality of the menu. Hux felt his fists clench at the thought. He knew it was only idle gossip, and he’d run the kitchen brigade well during Snoke’s many long absences. Nevertheless, it cast a shadow over the reputation of the establishment, and Hux could taste a hint of bile whenever he thought about it. That was why, when Chef Snoke had suggested the idea of this particular competition, Hux had agreed enthusiastically.

The competition was an annual event open to all the restaurants in the galaxy, an opportunity for the more prestigious contestants to confirm their status, and for newcomers to get their name out. The Finalizer had won the tournament several times, decades ago, when Snoke was at the top of his form. The string of successes had prompted him to stop taking part, feeling it to be not worth his while once he was already very well known by all the great and the good of the Republic.

The announcement that the Finalizer was taking part once again had excited the gastronomic world, and had put the restaurant once again right at the forefront of the scene. At that point, Hux couldn’t have been more thrilled. It was going to be a chance for him to show off his skills in front of all the great experts. But if he’d known then how things were eventually going to turn out, he would have chucked his knives in the bin and gone to get a job in the nearest fast-food outlet.

For sure, at the start everything was fine, and his battle-hardened brigades took the Finalizer all the way to the final, without a single cut finger or a single piece of meat overcooked. Hux didn’t even need to take part in all the rounds, leaving his commis chefs to get some practice in against the local greasy spoons and their slop. He didn’t grace the competition with his presence until their opponents were a bit more competent. Even then, he knew he could have cooked up a brilliant set of dishes entirely on his own and the three chefs facing him would be sent into a panic by his steely regard and his unequalled precision. That’s why they called him the General.

No, it wasn’t until now that they’d reached the final that things had got complicated for him. Not only because of who they were facing in the final, but also because of issues in his own team, related to Snoke’s rather impulsive tendencies. He knew he was being ungrateful to think this way about the man who had put him at the highest rank in his restaurant, but at the same time Snoke had put a bloody great stone in his shoe.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and loosen his fists. But only his fists. His face could continue to display his typical expression of permanent dissatisfaction, an expression which had the delicious effect of making everyone who worked under him tremble in fear. Well, nearly everyone who worked under him…

He gritted his teeth.

Around him, he heard the noise of spectators in the large hall where this first challenge would take place. He knew Snoke would be watching from the stands and if he failed, he would need to try his luck at the other end of the galaxy where nobody knew his name, a name which would have become synonymous with failure and shame.

He stopped the negative thoughts dead. He wouldn’t fail. Even if all the circumstances were against him, he wouldn’t fail.

He focused his gaze on the man standing opposite him, behind a work station just a few metres away. He wouldn’t have believed that he’d see him here. And this was one of the reasons he was so angry.

When he’d found out their opponents would be the Petite Résistance, he hadn’t tried to hide his disdain. A brand new restaurant, only opened a few months ago, and they thought they could play with the big boys. When he dug deeper, though, his blood turned cold. A new restaurant, yes, but not made up of amateurs. Far from it. 

Right here and now, in front of him, was Poe Dameron, the best pastry chef in the galaxy. Despite himself, Hux found his fists clenching again, and his knuckles white – even whiter than usual. Here was an adversary of note. Who would have been on their side if it hadn’t been for that idiot Ren.

Hux had tried to recruit Dameron a little before the Petite Résistance opened. He had met him here, on the Finalizer, and had offered him a contract no chef could refuse. Then he’d made the mistake of leaving the room, to go and fetch the necessary papers. When he came back, he found no Poe Dameron, only Ren, shaking with rage. Ren had, somehow or another, chased away the man who was going to be the new pastry chef. Hux had never forgiven Ren, or Poe for that matter. Especially as Poe hadn’t left on his own. He had taken with him one of Phasma’s commis, the one Hux called 2187 – he gave the lower ranking staff numbers, as he didn’t see the point in learning their names. 

Furthermore, this dirty traitor was here as well, standing next to Dameron. Hux knew he had to be the weak link of the team, because a few months earlier he’d been a mere porter, doing the washing up and throwing out the trash. He didn’t see how he could have earned his place in the final round of a competition at this level. But if Dameron had taken him under his wing, it must have been for a reason, and maybe 2187 had some qualities Hux hadn’t seen. Not very likely, he thought, wrinkling his nose. He saw everything and knew everything that happened in his kitchens.

And then there was the girl. Hux didn’t know her, but Ren seemed to hate her. Of course, Ren hated a lot of things, starting with Hux, but his hatred for this rather jolly young lass had something deep and visceral about it. Perhaps it was because she had taken Ren’s place when he had suddenly and noisily left the bosom of his family.

It wouldn’t have mattered much to Hux, but he was a fine strategist and he figured that if this girl was here, and if she had been trained, as had been rumoured, by Skywalker himself, she must know what she was doing with a knife in her hand and a pan on the stove.

In short, he was facing a formidable opposition and he knew he couldn’t underestimate them. Especially as he wasn’t too sure himself about his own team. Of course, Phasma was always solid. With her, the job got done, quickly and well. But she lacked a little creativity and finesse and despite her various good qualities, for example her taciturn character and her loyalty, she wasn’t quite on the same level as a Dameron.

And then there was Ren. Hux could really have done without him. Ren was a free radical in the kitchen, an element that he’d never managed to control and channel. His status as Snoke’s protégé seemed to give him all sorts of special rights and privileges. Hux didn’t agree with that at all, but Ren couldn’t have cared less about what Hux thought.

Hux had complained in person to Snoke several times about Ren’s behaviour – the fact he would turn up late, without respect for planning, would cook what he wanted without respect for the menu or for diners’ orders; without mentioning the numerous fits of temper that would end up with steel benches broken or pans dented because he’d buggered up his asparagus, say, or the caramel for his tarte tatin.

In fact, when he’d agreed to participate in this context, Hux knew he should have required Snoke to leave Ren out of the team. Though even Hux had to admit Ren was capable from time to time of real strokes of genius, he was just too highly strung, especially in a high-stress competition situation.

He had put his arguments to Chef Snoke that very morning, when Snoke had announced that Ren would be part of the team. But Snoke had just smiled and stated his full confidence in Hux’s ability to manage the mood swings of his apprentice.

Hux could only acquiesce. One did not say no to Chef Snoke.

Even though now, he was stuck with a sort of overgrown teenager capable of serving a plain petit suisse cream cheese to a table of judges from starred restaurants, while explaining that it symbolised the emptiness of his existence.

Hux shivered just at the thought and at the shame he would feel if it actually happened in front of the whole galaxy.

He looked discreetly towards Ren, who occupied the work station to the left of his own. The mere sight of him left Hux exasperated. His attitude, for a start. Instead of holding himself straight and dignified like Hux and Phasma, he was bent over, hands flat on the shiny surface of the table, and giving the evil eye to the team opposite. Not so much at the team opposite, actually. At the girl.

His felt his jaw tighten. He really hoped that Ren wasn’t going to lose his shit and throw his sharpest knife across the room. Killing an opponent in an official competition was terribly disorderly. But then, Ren liked disorder. Hux, however, could not stand it.

He also couldn’t stand his colleague and teammate’s haircut. Ren had tied back his massive mane, but a few strands had escaped and Hux really wanted to tuck them one by one behind his enormous ears. Or maybe to cut the lot off. Or to tear it all out with his bare hands. In any case, Ren’s hair was unhygienic and if it had been anyone else, Hux would have been more than happy to shave it all off.

“Are you ready?”

The voice of Wedge Antilles pulled him from his thoughts, and he realised that he’d been staring at Ren for several seconds. He lowered his head and nodded in the direction of Antilles, the master of ceremonies of the competition.

“We are ready,” he said in an icy tone.

Phasma, who he could see out of the corner of his eye, behind the large silhouette of Ren, nodded. Ren ignored them royally, his eyes and his wrath remaining turned towards their opponents.

Antilles just shrugged and turned towards the other team, all gathered around Dameron’s table and laughing. Hux felt his dislike of them ratchet up a notch.

When both teams had confirmed they were ready, Wedge Antilles went to the middle of the hall and raised his hand for silence. In the stands, the spectators sat down and little by little the noise fell away into complete silence. Wedge was not a man to raise his voice and they all knew that if they wanted to hear the master of ceremonies they would need to stop the chit-chat and listen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand final of this 127th edition of the biggest culinary tournament in the galaxy.”

There was a little applause and Antilles paused before continuing.

“This year, once again, so much has happened; there have been twists, there have been discoveries and revelations. And those who are before us today are the best of the best, the crème de la crème.”

Hux puffed out his chest. He lived for this sort of commentary. Even if he didn’t entirely agree with Antilles. He was the crème de la crème, and, yes, so was Dameron. As to the others… Ren in particular was the sort who hit bottom and kept on digging, while moaning that everyone ignored his genius. 

Hux forced himself to concentrate on Antilles. He had noticed that whatever the subject these days, his mind kept linking it in some way to Ren. He had worried about it but concluded that it was swings and roundabouts. Thinking about Ren was certainly unpleasant, but the hatred and anger it stirred in him stimulated him and pushed him to go further, to keep getting better and to crush the pathetic concoctions of Snoke’s favourite under his own plates of flavourful perfection.

“To my left…” said Antilles.

Hux stood as tall as possible, until his spine was stretched like the string of a bow. He always had excellent posture, but he knew this was his moment and he had to be at his best. He hoped that not a single strand of hair had escaped from his perfectly sculpted hairdo and that not a single crease had formed on his perfectly ironed black jacket.

Despite himself, his eyes went back to Ren and he couldn’t hold in a sniff at Ren’s jacket and its torn buttonholes. He had to keep it rolled up into a ball in his bag, judging by its resemblance to a wrung-out cleaning rag.

“… the brigade of the Finalizer.”

Hux raised his chin and fixed his eyes on a point in front of him, above the head of Dameron who was still smiling like an idiot, and saluted the crowd with his hand. Hux realised that maybe it wasn’t so bad not to have Dameron on the team. He would have messed with the general ambiance of the Finalizer’s crew.

“The restaurant,” continued Antilles, “belonging to Chef Snoke, and whose team is led by Chef Hux.”

Hux nodded his head in thanks for the polite applause from the hall. To hear the words, “Chef Hux”, was always a little strange. Only the new commis in the team called him Chef. The others used his nickname of General, to the point that he had almost forgotten that it wasn’t his actual title. He didn’t mind being called Chef. But General sounded better to both his ears and his ego.

“He will be supported in his task,” continued Wedge Antilles in the same quiet tone, “by pastry chef Phasma, and Ben Solo.”

“Kylo Ren!” growled Ren between gritted teeth.

Hux had great trouble not rolling his eyes and thanked the stars that Ren hadn’t yelled his correction across the hall. If Wedge Antilles had heard it, he didn’t notice or correct himself.

“Opposite them, the young team from the Petite Résistance, a brand new restaurant, very promising – open for only a few months now…”

Hux only felt scorn for Dameron, the Traitor and the Girl who waved in an attempt to gain the favour of the crowd. They could wriggle as much as they liked; in this final it would be the cooking that would set them apart, and Hux, despite his worries, felt sure that he could crush them like insects under his non-slip soles. 

“… and belonging to Leia Organa.”

That was a name that brought him back out of his thoughts!

He felt his head turn so quickly towards Ren that he almost thought he’d break his neck. Ren was still in the same position, pressing against the table, but he was livid. His eyes shone, his lips trembled and even his hair seemed more disordered, as if it wanted to stand up on his head. He stared at a point in the crowd and seemed to not be able to blink.

Hux followed his gaze and saw, in the middle of the spectators, Leia Organa herself, in person. She waved back at her team without even a glance towards her son.

Hux bit his lip. This was a low blow. He had to act quickly. Ren was already mentally unstable, no doubt the sight of his mother whom he hated so much would make him even more fragile.

He spotted an empty bucket under Ren’s table. Perhaps he could stick it on Ren’s head to obscure his vision? After all, you covered the eyes of panicked animals. As a human being, Hux knew he’d panic even more if someone covered his eyes, but at the same time, Ren did come across as more animal than human.

He managed to make a sign in the direction of his colleague, and Ren turned on him, boiling over with rage.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he spat, a strand of saliva shining on his full lips.

Hux wondered why he noticed this particular detail now, when his life seemed to be in genuine danger. Ren was not much taller than him, but right now at this minute, his anger gave him a truly crushing presence.

Hux kept his stony face despite the circumstances. He had learned a long time ago to hide his thoughts and emotions.

“I didn’t know,” he said, calmly.

Which was true. He had concentrated on the file of the Petite Résistance team. Their investors and proprietors weren’t his problem.

“I will humiliate them, I will crush them, I will pierce them with their own nothingness and…”

Hux approved vehemently: Ren seemed to be back on form and if he managed to channel this energy, he could be stunning. Or at least, that was what Hux hoped. Unless it all ended up in a bloodbath, a possibility that he couldn’t entirely discount.

“…drag them in their own entrails before…”

The firmest clearing of the throat ever heard in the galaxy interrupted them.

“You don’t mind if I carry on?” asked Antilles.

For his answer, Hux resumed his perfect stance behind his work station, but with an eye still riveted on Ren. Ren was feverish, impatient. His hands shook, never good in this line of work. His lips were trembling as if he was holding back a sob.

Hux looked away. He wanted no part of that. The thought that Ren might crack even before the tournament had started was high on the list of catastrophic scenarios that he’d been imagining all morning. If only Snoke had listened and had given him a proper professional chef!

He raised an eye to the stands and had no problem finding the chef proprietor, his aged face setting him apart in the midst of the predominantly young crowd. In contrast to Hux, he seemed perfectly serene, and was chatting to a thin man without any worries about the state of his protégé. Snoke didn’t even seem shocked or surprised to see Leia Organa here. Did he know that she would be here? Did he know about her links to the Petite Résistance? Hux told himself that had that been the case, he would at least have mentioned that salient fact to the team. Or at least, he hoped so.

“After the presentation of the teams, the presentation of the jury. And this year, we have with us for these three challenges an exceptional jury. I know what you’re thinking. Every year I promise you an exceptional jury. And pardon me, but every year we do have an exceptional jury! But this year it will be not only exceptional, but legendary. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the first member of our jury. He is the administrator of Cloud City Corp, the sponsors of our tournament: Mr Lando Calrissian.”

Hux raised his eyes to the ceiling, even though he couldn’t actually see it through the spotlights. He hadn’t the slightest idea who this guy was, but if Antilles thought this was an exceptional jury, who would be next? A Gungan and an Ewok? Hooray for the credibility of the event!

A black man of a certain age entered the hall. His radiant smile, his sparkling eyes and his lively gait made him look at least ten years younger than his face suggested. He went towards the team of the Petite Résistance, and they greeted him warmly.

“Well done for having made it this far, kids! And good luck.”

Then he turned towards the brigade of the Finalizer and Hux gave him his most professional look.

“Hey, Benny!” called Calrissian before continuing towards the large table at the back of the hall reserved for the jury.

“It’s Kylo!” growled Ren again, a little louder this time.

“You know that guy?” Hux was surprised at himself for having asked the question. Generally, he kept his thoughts to himself, but the fact that Calrissian had called Ren ‘Benny’ had unsettled him.

“That’s my uncle Lando,” Ren responded, as if that was an explanation.

Hux wasn’t going to push it. Especially as Antilles had started speaking again.

“…we haven’t seen him for many years and he has agreed to come back for us. I know many of you will be surprised to see him again, but what better choice to judge our chefs than this man who reigned for decades over a gastronomic empire? Please give a warm welcome to Mr Sheev Palpatine!” 

Hux found himself surprised for the second time in less than twenty seconds. That wasn’t like him. But he had thought that Palpatine had been dead for years. Palpatine had been a very very old man already when Hux was a child, and he had been a little bit scared of Palpatine when his father had introduced them - although even at a young age, he had known enough to hide his fear.

The black silhouette that entered the hall was met more by murmuring than by applause. Palpatine had been a man with a controversial reputation in the gastronomic sphere: lauded by some, hated by others. He wasn’t a chef himself, but he surrounded himself with cooks. Hux’s father, for example, to whom he had entrusted the management of his culinary school. Or Ren’s grandfather, the great chef Vader - still considered by many, including Ren himself, to have been the best chef of all time. Hux had found that out the day he had managed not to get a knife in the guts after having said that to him, Vader was the bloke who had his face on packets of spices and who talked up the merits of stock cubes on TV ads when he was a kid. In the absolute sense, this was true. After the fall of Palpatine’s culinary empire and the failure of his many restaurants across the galaxy, Vader had tried to limit his losses however he could by selling his image rights against fat endorsement contracts for everything and anything. He’d passed away not long after. But at one time, Vader really had been the most talented and creative chef of his generation. Hux had studied enough gastronomic history to know that.

And Ren seemed to really worship his grandfather, apparently the only member of his family he still respected at all. Probably because he had been dead for a long time and he’d never actually known him. But the day he arrived on the Finaliser, he had claimed he wanted to restore Vader’s lost honour. Hux didn’t really understand what he meant by that, but if it could motivate the big idiot to cook well, Hux wasn’t going to talk him out of it. Except that at the moment, the effects of his hero-worship did leave something to be desired.

Hux was pretty sure that somehow Ren had got his hands on Vader’s old chef’s toque. He had seen him several times mumbling at an old piece of cloth that he kept inside his locker in the changing room. Not that Hux had particularly been looking at Ren in the changing rooms. No! Not at all! Well, perhaps the first time… but only because he hadn’t realised that Ren was so wide in the shoulders under his chef’s jacket, as he had seemed at first sight simply tall and lanky. And the second time was just to confirm he hadn’t imagined it. Perhaps also the third… 

“And more applause for Sheev Palpatine!” Wedge interrupted him.

Hux blinked his eyes. In the time that he had been thinking about stupid Ren and his stupid piece of cloth, Palpatine had joined the judges’ table without a glance at anyone. That wasn’t so bad. Hux didn’t want to see his face, deformed by age and illness.

He wasn’t unhappy to have him on the jury, though. The years that Palpatine and Hux’s father had worked together might make Palpatine more inclined to vote in their favour… He stopped himself. It was his cooking that would make the difference. He didn’t need connections; he had never needed them. Some people thought he had got where he was because of his name. It wasn’t true and it didn’t matter if they liked it or not. His father was not the sort of man who did people favours.

“Now, please,” said Antilles, once Palpatine was seated, leaving an empty chair in between himself and Lando, “welcome our final juror. But not too loud, he is a little shy,” he added with a smile.

Now Hux definitely expected an Ewok.

“I have personally put a great deal of effort into getting him here tonight. For many years, he has been in retirement from the gastronomic world, but I know that everyone here will remember him, his legendary dishes and his life philosophy which has made him one of the true legends of our profession. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mr Luke Skywalker!”

Hux couldn’t believe it. It was a joke! It could only be a joke! Luke Skywalker had disappeared many years ago and the only rumours about him were concerning the girl opposite them, whom he was supposed to have trained! Rumours which, as far as Hux was concerned, were completely unfounded.

But when the man entered the room, he had to accept the evidence. With his big grey beard and his hippy clothes that looked like they’d been dragged right out of a dumpster, it was definitely Luke Skywalker. Older, with a sad face, but with that aura of someone who’d reached the summit of his art.

Hux couldn’t stop himself from swallowing. He had known Palpatine when he was a child and had perhaps seen Vader when he was little more than a child. But this was the first time he was properly conscious of being in the presence of a Master.

His gaze went back to Ren. As much as he had defied his mother with his attitude full of rage, here he turned his head away, his eyes fixed on the empty area of the stainless steel table that was between his hands, his shoulders hunched as if he wanted to make his big body disappear. He was bright red and was violently chewing on his lower lip.

Pathetic, thought Hux. And he thought once again of putting a bucket on Ren’s head to calm him down. The tournament would start in a few minutes and between the presence of his mother and that of his uncle, who knew what Snoke’s protégé would do. Hux made a note to get rid of all the petits suisses in the larder before Ren got his hands on them.

But Skywalker didn’t give the slightest attention to their team. He had a discreet smile for the girl, then for Wedge, before his joined the jury table. It was probably for the best. This wasn’t really the moment for sorting out a family argument.

Hux blinked and wondered if it wasn’t against the rules for a member of the jury to be the brother of the proprietor of one of the competitors. On the other hand, wherever you went in the galaxy you’d be hard pushed to meet a chef who didn’t have some link with Skywalker, Organa or Solo. These people seemed to be everywhere. And after all, if the sister was on the opposite side, the nephew was on their side. Even if that turned out to be more handicap than benefit. Well, if the stories were true.

Luke Skywalker had been reckoned, after his father, to have been the best chef in the galaxy. But having learned from Vader’s mistakes, he had gone towards a more simple, more authentic style of cooking. He had opened his restaurant, the Temple, in the middle of nowhere, with nature on all sides, and had gone himself to forage for ingredients in the surrounding woods. He took in many apprentices and commis, and converted them to his way of life and his principles. Until the day when the Temple had burned down, from the top of its thatched roof down to its deepest foundations. And the rumours were that it was Ren himself who had started the fire before going off to join Snoke.

Hux didn’t know if it was true or not. And he didn’t care. All he cared about was whether Skywalker was going to try to take revenge for it. And whether Ren was going to control himself. Which would happen, even if Hux needed to personally put his foot right up Ren’s arse. His foot at the very least… 

He thumped his fist on the table. This was not the time to think about that. There were more important things going on. Wedge Antilles had just stepped back into the middle of the hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to begin our first challenge,” he announced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank again the amazing team for the translation!  
> [verybadhedgehog](http://verybadhedgehog.tumblr.com)  
> [yuri-otabek-hiatus](http://yuri-otabek-hiatus.tumblr.com)  
> [eridaniepsilon](http://eridaniepsilon.tumblr.com)
> 
> You make me so happy, you have no idea!

Hux gave his opponents his very coldest stare, in hope that his focus alone would impress them. Clearly, it didn’t really work, since Dameron kept smiling and waving at the crowd, making the first rows giggle merrily, and the Girl and the Traitor kept on chatting. At least, the Traitor seemed nervous, his good mood a little over played and his hands slightly shaking. But Hux doubted it had much to do with his cold and steely gaze. It must have been stage fright or something of that sort, which Hux couldn’t even begin to understand.

But the Traitor wasn’t the only one who was wobbling. Ren seemed about to faint. Hux was tempted to take a wooden spoon and throw it between his big ears. At least it would distract him from the self-pity that he must, once again, have been wallowing in.

With a glance from the corner of his eyes, Wedge Antilles stopped all the chit chat going on in the opposite camp – even Dameron put his arms down.

Serves you right! Hux thought, rather meanly. Was he the only one here taking this competition seriously?

A drop of sweat ran down the Traitor’s cheek and Hux had to stop himself from smirking. He was going to crush him with his talent.

“For this first challenge,” Antilles began, “we ask the two teams to prepare a full meal, starter, main course and dessert. Each team member will prepare a dish, each dish will count for one point and at the end of the tasting, the team which has most points will win this round. Is this clear?”

Hux nodded vigorously. Dameron answered out loud. The Girl was smiling, the Traitor motionless, Phasma was hidden by Ren and Ren was breathing heavily. Behold the galaxy’s new generation of cooks, thought Hux, bitterly.

Facing such a depressing scene, he knew it was his destiny to shine in this competition and to restore the image of galactic gastronomy.

“The theme of the challenge,” carried on Antilles, “is the dishes from your childhood. Show us the flavours of your family meals.”

There was a scream at Hux’s right, and a cloud of cutlery flew around them, violently slamming on the shiny steel floor.

Wedge Antilles stared at Ren with surprise, then annoyance, before turning towards Hux. He decided the incident had nothing to do with him, and didn’t even turn to look at his colleague. When a child was having a tantrum, you either had to punish him or ignore him. Since he wasn’t going to put him in the corner…

Copying Hux’s attitude, Antilles went on with his speech, interspersed by Ren’s heavy breathing.

“As I was saying, childhood dishes. Be authentic but also creative. Modern. Bold. You have two hours and only one visit to the pantry. You can start…now!”

There was a moment of hesitation in the room then Hux dashed first. He knew Dameron was on his heels and could hear the heavy steps of Phasma. He also picked up Antilles’ voice in the hubbub.

“A moment Benny! You are not going anywhere before tidying up all this mess.”

“It’s Ky…,” started Ren.

“Clean up.”

Hux didn’t hear more. He had just reached the door of the stores _,_ and opened it with a loud bang. In front of him were spread mountains of food. And he knew exactly what he was going to do.

He hadn’t consulted with his team before starting but it was clear that Phasma would take care of the dessert, he would do the main course and Ren would have to do the starter and not complain, especially considering his latest stunt.

Too busy choosing his products, he didn’t notice Ren, who was almost plastered against him, red faced. His hair was falling around his long face and Hux wondered what was the purpose of the hair elastic still dangling from one of his locks.

“I want to prepare the starter,” grumbled Ren.

He was so close that Hux could feel his breath against his skin. He closed his eyes for a second and pulled his best annoyed face.

“You will do what I tell you to. You don’t need to stand out more than you already have.”

“You can't tell me what to do.”

“Of course I can! Was there something about the concept of ‘chef’ that you weren’t understanding?”

Ren shrugged and made an even more sulky pout. Hux was sure one day his chin would disappear under his big pouty mouth.

“So you are going to start by tying up your hair. We’re not with your uncle’s hippie friends here!”

That seemed to hit the mark. Ren retrieved his elastic with his fingers and started to put his hair up again. Hux was always impressed by the length of his arms. The proportions of this man were really quite staggering.

“And then you are going to do the starter for me. And you’re going to knuckle down. And to produce real cuisine. Not a leaf of lettuce, burned at the sides to condemn the destruction of the primitive forest of Endor!”

“I don’t do that!”

Hux rolled his eyes. He was sure that his eyes had gotten stronger since he had met Ren.

“You have something to prove, to everybody in that room. You’d better remember it.”

He knew it was a low blow to revive Ren’s anger but honestly it didn’t make him guilty in the least. There was a competition to win and he would pull all the strings needed. Ren’s eyes were bright and he smirked.

“I will humiliate them,” he muttered.

Hux nodded. That was a state of mind he liked!

Noticing that all the others had already left the area, Hux took his last ingredients, stealing on the way all the _petits suisses._ Ren was back on side but one could never be too careful. His mood swings could be so sudden!

As he was about to leave, a strong hand closed around his bicep and his heart missed a beat. Slowly he turned around and met Ren’s piercing dark eyes. Their noses almost touched.

“I couldn’t care less about the primitive forest of Endor _,_ ” he proclaimed, quite distinctly.

Hux gave a long sigh without bothering to hide it, then rather abruptly got out of the other cook’s grip.

“Hurry up, the clock is ticking!” he barked.

And he hot-footed it out of the pantry.

Back at his worktable, he noticed Ren had picked up and put away the cutlery he had thrown on the ground. He felt a vague smile at the corner of his lips.

This was interesting information. Very interesting.

On board the _Finalizer_ , Ren was feared by all, except Hux, even if he had slightly worried for his life on a few occasions. But for those who had known Ren since his childhood, since the time of Ben Solo, he was still Benny and they gave him at best amused looks, at worst condescending ones. Only Luke seemed to take him seriously. The others still talked to him like he was a little boy. And that was something which amused Hux. He should maybe try to call Ren “Benny” next time he was throwing a tantrum, just to see what happened. He might manage to have him tidying up his worktable.

Enthusiastic whispers stopped Hux’s thoughts and he looked up.

Poe Dameron had just gotten out his ultimate weapon. The best baker of the galaxy never travelled without his personalized cooking robot which, according to the legend, he had assembled himself and which answered perfectly to each and every one of his needs. His BB8 was a unique model able to beat, mold, melt, spread, cut, cook and a thousand other tricks, all at the same time. Phasma had declared once that Poe wasn’t really the best baker of the galaxy, only that he had the best material in the galaxy. And Hux had detected jealousy in her usually calm and even voice. Nevertheless, the small orange robot was now standing on the table in front of Hux and it meant Dameron took things very seriously. It was time for Hux to get to work.

When he thought about the dishes of his childhood, the first thing that came to his mind were _les bouchées à la reine_. His father never cooked at home, leaving that task to his wife, but he often brought back the leftovers from the restaurant or the cooking academy. Because if there was something Brendol Hux hated, it was waste. For him the first success was an efficient management of resources. A lesson his son had adopted well.

But the leftovers weren’t always very fresh, or of high quality. So his tireless mother coated them with a white sauce and accompanied them with mushrooms and a puff pastry. And cooked that way, everything tasted good, even old broccoli.

Hux hadn’t used broccoli in his cuisine for a while. But he had tasted enough variations on _bouchées à la reine_ to know which combination was the best and how to bring them out. Today, he only needed to show off his technique to put them up to date and charm the jury’s taste buds.

He started with the crust. Goodbye heavy fatty puff pastry, and welcome light crispy kataifi vermicelli pastry. He decided to keep the traditional shape of the _bouchée,_ a circle, but to change the filling.

He chopped both of his meats, his vegetables and started the cooking. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and the time on the clock showed him he had more than enough time. As a good team leader, he headed for Phasma to see what she was preparing but she stopped him with a gesture before he could be too close.

“I know what I’m doing,” she sighed, her voice strangely tense.

Probably it was being in close proximity to Dameron, her nemesis. At least in her head, as Hux didn’t think Dameron even knew who Phasma was.

He didn’t push it, as he trusted his pastry chef. With a little more concern, he approached Ren, who was seething with excitement. He was cutting, slicing, cooking, mixing, his tentacular arms moving in every direction and his workspace disappearing under a pile of waste and dirty dishware. Drops of sweat were running along his face, and strands of hair were sticking to his brow.

In normal circumstances, Hux would have intervened in the face of such utter chaos but as for once Ren seemed to be trying to show willing, he wasn’t going to scold him now.

“What are you preparing?” he asked, as professionally as he could.

Ren finished crushing red berries with his mallet before answering. Hux was surprised that the table didn’t break under the force of his strikes.

“My uncle Chewie’s Wasaka flavoured soup.”

“Your uncle Chewie? How many uncles do you even have?”

Ren stopped for a minute, taking time to think. He mopped his sweat on his jacket.

“There is my uncle Luke, obviously, uncle Chewie, uncle Lando, uncle Wedge…”

“Wait, this guy is your uncle too?” Hux cut him off, holding out his chin towards Antilles.

“Yes, he’s…”

“I don’t want to know.  Your family makes no sense!”

“What? Don’t you have uncles then?”

Hux did have uncles but didn’t really socialize with them.

“I was mostly surrounded by aunts,” he admitted.

For the Huxes, things were clear. The men cooked, they married women, who had kids and looked after them. If they were male, they were became chefs to carry on the family name. Nothing extravagant. The General was the first of this long succession not to have taken a wife. Which he didn’t intend to do, for obvious reasons. Unfortunately, said reasons were much less obvious to his mother who kept harassing him about it. Too bad for the Hux line. But his cousins could take care of that.

“What’s that?” Hux asked pointing to a small cup holding a brownish ingredient he couldn’t identify.

“Wookiee hair” Ren replied, sieving his mashed berries.

“Woo…Wookiee hair?” Hu repeated, incredulously.

“Yes, Wookiee hair.”

“Is it…some kind of plant?”

“No. It’s Wookiee hair.”

Hux stayed motionless _,_ and then felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up with rage.

“You bloody idiot! You are not going to put this creature’s hair in a dish for top chefs.

“It’s not a proper ‘uncle Chewie’s soup’ if there isn’t hair in it!” Ren exclaimed, raising his voice. “And Wookies aren’t creatures! You’re a close minded and stubborn elitist!”

Hux stayed silent while Ren’s yells were echoing between the walls of the Finalizer, silencing the audience who all turned to stare. Elitist, yes, he certainly was. Stubborn, sometimes. But close minded, that, no! His father thought that a great cook must know everything, taste everything. So when Hux was still a teenager, he had been sent in the four corners of the galaxy to discover other lifestyles and other cuisines. Those trips had forged him and had revealed who he really was. Before, he would never have believed he’d have any interest in the oku’s cuisine, nor appreciate the Biths as much.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he replied coldly, going back to his work station.

He doubted that. They were screwed. Their only hope was that Phasma would prepare the best dessert of her life and therefore crush Dameron.  With her point and Hux's, which he would definitely win, they had a chance. Otherwise...

He raised his eyes to the tiers where Snoke was casually chatting with a young woman. Hux cursed him for sticking Ren with him.

His jaw clenched, Hux went back to his preparations. Now the delicate part started.

For several long minutes, bent over his table, he cut his garnish precisely to give them all the same regular shape. He corrected the sauce. Then went back to the garnish, until Ren started making a mess next to him. He was beating his vegetables so hard to reduce them to a mash that even Hux's table was shaking.

“You stop that right now,” He growled at him, without stopping his work.

“The Wasaka flavoured soup...is served with mashed, raw, vegetables. Which... you would know if you weren't such a.... close minded.... stubborn... elitist!”

Ren was short of breath but it didn't stop him from hammering his vegetables. Hux straightened up and put his knife down. Better not to court disaster. At least not right now.

“You stop that right now,” he repeated, piercing his colleague with his gaze.

“Impossible, the vegetables are...raw...it's hard…”

“Not as hard as handling your immeasurable stupidity!”  

Now, this caught Ren's attention. He turned towards the General, a hammer in one hand and an asparagus in the other.

"What? Whining because you can't cut your little mushrooms in little pieces?" he taunted him.

“At least I don't destroy my work space when I fail cooking my asparagus,” Hux replied, referring to one of Ren's worst ever tantrums. "Oh yes, because I NEVER muck up cooking my asparagus! Maybe that’s why you went for RAW vegetables.”

Hux knew he had raised his voice, which happened only very rarely. He firmly believed in the power of a cold order. But being close to Ren seemed to make the temperature raise by a few degrees. He felt the audience's eyes on their unseemly and pathetic duo. At least, Ren was unseemly and pathetic...

Ren had never been disappointing in that regard. He threw his hammer at Hux's feet, missing his toes only by a few inches. Hux didn't even flinch.  

Raising the asparagus like a sabre, Ren threatened him. “You know where I’m gonna stick my asparagus?!”

Hux sniggered.

“I'd like to see that”"

Suddenly, he found himself with the asparagus in the back of his throat. Hux coughed, spat and eventually, eyes full of tears, managed to spit out the vegetable.

He had to admit, this time Ren had got him by surprise. It wasn't where he had expected him to shove the asparagus.

“You stupid…” Hux barked, throwing the drool-covered asparagus at Ren's face.

Ren made no attempt to avoid it and it hit his forehead with a floppy noise before falling on the ground.

In his head, Hux heard his father's voice, scolding him for the waste. That was perhaps why he didn't dodge Ren's next attack, when he threw a handful of Wookiee hair at him.

Paralyzed, Hux looked down at his jacket. It was covered with hair. Hair everywhere. On his jacket. His immaculate jacket, that even butter or oil never touched.

Hux felt himself turn bright red. This time Ren had crossed the line. What was he going to do next? Spit in his dish? Worse, mess up his hair?

With long strides, Hux went to the foot of the spectator stands.

“Chef Snoke!” he called out. “Did you see what Ren just did? Did you see?”

“He provoked me!” shouted Kylo, who had followed him.

“You must replace him, Chef Snoke, he's a burden on the team!”

“He's unable to lead a team, Chef Snoke. He…”

Snoke raised his hand, which was enough to both shut them up. Then he leaned over and smiled.

“I had no idea I had entrusted the future of my restaurant to two children,” he replied in a calm voice.

A calm voice Hux only knew too well. Full of condescension and often preceding a dismissal.

He lowered his head and felt Ren doing the same by his side. It wasn't from anger anymore but from shame. He hoped no one would spot the difference.

“There isn't much time left,” Snoke added. “I hope you will be able to behave in a manner befitting your rank.”

“Yes, Chef Snoke,” they replied together.

“Five minutes!” Wedge Antilles announced.

Hux straightened up. Five minutes? But he wasn't done with the cutting and still had to plate everything! Ren, bloody idiot, who had made him waste precious time with his childishness and...

Carried by his own anger he ran back to his work station. He didn't even have time to check what their opponents were doing. Never mind, he knew he would win his point. The others would have to accept their failure, if failure there was.  

It was rare for the General to be out of breath but when he had finished pouring the sauce into tiny porcelain jugs and was wiping the last spots on his plate, he felt his heart beating wildly. And he had to summon all his willpower to control his tense hands. In front of him, Wedge Antilles was counting down the seconds. He could hear Ren who was muttering a series of inarticulate sounds. A last visual check...

“Two...one...Stop! It's finished!”

Hux raised his hands and took a step back,a deep breath and nodded in satisfaction. He had in front of him dishes he wanted to serve. He whipped his hands on his apron. His palms were sweaty which wasn't like him.

He glanced at Ren's work. It was...rustic. The bottom of his soup plates was covered by a red liquid in which swam small colourful balls, probably the famous _purée_ of raw vegetables. And in the centre he had thrown a little pile of hair.

Hux shook his head. Ren obviously hadn’t listened to anything. He didn't give a damn. And they were all screwed because of that.

“I hope you're proud of yourself.” he couldn't stop himself saying.  

“No,” Ren replied coldly. “The asparagus _purée_ is missing. And we know whose fault that is,” he added turning to Hux, brow furrowed.  

“Moron,” he replied, leaning over to see what Phasma had prepared.

Her plates were already under their domes. He shrugged. Anyway the dice were cast.

“The jury will first try the dishes of the _Petite Résistance,”_ Antilles announced, while the waiters put the plates on large metal trays.

Hux stretched his neck to try and see something, but there again the dishes were under their domes. Except Dameron's arrangement which seemed to be made of spun sugar on which were assembled sweets and chocolates as flowers. It was almost a metre high. Hux snorted with contempt. It was nothing like a childhood dish. Rather flashy. Maybe they had a chance.

The three cooks of the _Petite Résistance_ moved towards the jury. Dameron and the Girl both had an arm around the Traitor to support him.

Weak and pathetic, Hux thought.

But he was a little anxious to hear the jury's comments.

The Girl had created the starter _._ She explained that before Skywalker took her under his wing, she had grown up in Jakku, mostly feeding herself with survival portions. And she had draw inspiration from it to recreate a simple but nourishing recipe.   

Hux pulled a face at this emotional display which didn't touch his heart the slightest. He grimaced even more when the jury recognized her boldness, her risk taking and the delicious taste of her dish. And you have a real instinct for cooking, and blah blah blah, and you gave life to tasteless food, and lalalalala...

Hux almost felt sick, but Ren was twisting his fingers so hard with each praise that the General was impressed they hadn’t dislocated yet. His bones were producing loud and disgusting cracks. And he was mumbling what Hux guessed to be a volley of insults.

Thankfully, his mood rose when the Traitor showed his work, based on the canteen meals that had punctuated his childhood. What a program _…_ Calrissian even commented that no one could make a canteen meal tasty. The Traitor dropped his head and Dameron ran a hand through his hair to comfort him. At least Hux's point was ensured. He puffed out his torso, feeling a weight leaving his shoulders.

As for Dameron, if his visual and his technical skills were impressive, the jury considered his dish irrelevant. He had used childhood-coded ingredients but it wasn't really a childhood dish. He had tried to do too much.

The corner of Hux's lips lightly raised. Thinking about it, he probably hadn't smiled so honestly in years.

The first three cooks thanked the chef judges, and now it was the _Finalizer_ team’s turn.  

Framed by Ren on his left and Phasma on his right, Hux felt tiny. He really wasn't a small man, far from it. In fact, he was much taller than any member of the _Petite Résistance_ but his two partners were incredibly impressive. Ren had only two or three centimetres on him but he was all shoulders and muscles, and he was occupying space like Hux’s lithe frame never could. As for Phasma, she probably was the tallest and most powerful woman in the galaxy. Hux was glad to have her as an ally.

He stretched his neck as much as he could to fill the height difference.

In front of them, three pair of observing eyes. Luke Skywalker’s were on Hux, probably to avoid Ren rather than from real interest. Calrissian was scanning Phasma with a smile. As for Palpatine, he was looking straight ahead, his ageless gaze lacklustre. Poor old man. Hux didn't know if the former Emperor of gastronomy knew what he was doing there. They must have gotten him out of his retirement home for the publicity stunt.  

"Here is the starter, _"_ Antilles announced, placing himself right behind Skywalker.

Waiters put down three plates in front of the jury and took the domes off. A strong smell, intertwining sugar and spices rose in the room, making the first rows whisper.

“Can you explain your dish, Ben?” Antilles asked.

Kylo didn't even correct him. He was too busy looking at his shoes, stained with Wasaka juice. And avoiding his uncle who was right in front of him.

“It's my uncle Chewie's Wasaka flavour soup,” he mumbled so quietly that even Hux could barely hear him.

Antilles had the kindness not to insist. Anyway, Skywalker as well as Calrissian must know which uncle Chewie was. And Hux doubted Palpatine even remembered his own name.

The three judges plunged their spoons in their plates.  

Hux discreetly observed Ren. He seemed about to faint. Hands behind his back, Hux crossed his fingers for it to happen. It would be an interesting anecdote which would make the kitchens of the _Finalizer_ laugh for years.

To everyone's surprise, Luke Skywalker was the first to break the silence.

“It's good,” he said in a rough voice.

Hux thought Ren really would faint. He better not count on Hux to catch him...

“Thank you,” he mumbled in a strangely small voice.

“Wookiee hair brings a very authentic touch,” Luke went on but without looking up.  

At that, Ren seemed to come back to life. When he had sagged when the spoons had touched his soup, he now straightened up at once and threw a mocking look at Hux. He even dared to lightly smirk.

“Wookiee hair?” Wedge asked.

Skywalker nodded.

“When Wookiees cook, it's impossible to avoid hair. It's a fact you have to accept.”

“Alright… And you Lando, your opinion?”

Calrissian took another enthusiastic spoonful before answering.

“It's delicious. I hadn't eaten Wookiee cuisine in years. With all the spices they use, you’re lucky if you don’t get the runs. But this, it's well measured. The sweet and sour mixture is nice and the mash balls bring a lot of freshness. I like it a lot.”

Hux felt his heartbeat quicken. Apparently, Ren had done a good job and maybe everything wasn't lost.

“And the Wookiee hair?” Antilles insisted.

Lando burst into laughter.

“Wedge, you know me! You must know it's not the first time I have Wookiee hair in my mouth!”

Antilles hardly hid a smile.

“There's only one thing,” Skywalker resumed, with a  grumpy face. “I feel a bitterness I didn't remember  in the original recipe.”

“I added grapefruit juice to symbolize my tears,” Ren admitted in a small voice.

Hux barely stopped himself from theatrically rolling his eyes. Luke didn't. The General never would have thought himself capable to relate so much to the hippie chef who liked growing root vegetables and playing the ocarina to deer. Or something like that. It was hard for Hux to imagine the activities someone living in the wild could indulge in.

As for Calrissian he burst into laughter.  

“Oh Benny!” he called out. “You haven't changed since the last time I saw you fifteen years ago! When you were fifteen! Still the same! Have you discovered the secret for eternal teenagehood, Ben Solo?” he joked.

Ren bit his lip from embarrassment and anger but he didn't react. Possibly because there were only spoons on the table and it was hard to efficiently kill someone with a spoon. Anyway, Hux was relieved when Antilles stepped in to change subject and turned to Palpatine.  

“And you, Sheev? Your opinion?”

“It's good,” The old man soberly commented.  

Knowing he wouldn't get more out of him, Wedge didn't insist. He raised a finger and the plates were cleared and replaced by new ones.  

Hux tightened his fists in his back. His time had arrived.

The tubes of kataifi pastry made Calrissian smile enthusiastically and even Skywalker raised a surprised eyebrow.  

“Chef Hux, if you'd like to explain your dish?” Antilles asked.

“Those are _Bouchées à la reine_ ,” Hux said in a firm and composed voice.

He was good at talking in public and he liked that. He knew he was capable of captivating nearly any counterpart.  

"But they are deconstructed," he added, "so I renamed them _Bouchée à la Ren"._

He gave a long look to his team-mate who looked outraged. He heard Calrissian giggle and detected a spark in Skywalker's eyes. There we go, he had the jury in his pocket.  

“To construct them,” he continued, “you only have to fill the hole with the white sauce.”

“Interesting,” Lando said, taking the small jug.

Like the other members of the jury, he poured the sauce in the tube. The vegetables he had gelified melted, liberating their aroma.  

Confident, Hux watched them taking their first bite. Skywalker nodded, Calrissian beamed and Hux thought he saw some emotions on Palpatine's face but maybe it was wishful thinking.

“It's good, it's neat, it's well done. The idea to add the sauce at the last minute is excellent and allows to keep the crunchiness of the vermicelli pastry. Perfect technique, impeccable taste, for me it's a win.”

Hux never would have thought that getting so many compliments from Luke Skywalker, whose cuisine was totally opposed to his, would warm his heart. Or maybe it was because Ren was disappearing into his shoulders at each praise.. He now seemed smaller than Hux, hunched on himself.  

“Nothing to add,” Lando said. “Sublime from the first to the last bite.”

He even asked one of the waiter to bring him some bread to finish the sauce.  

“It's very good,” Palpatine concluded.

Hux felt as if he was shining like a star. He had a “very” more than Ren on Palpatine's comment! In your big teeth, Kylo Ren! He hoped that this display of skills would make this imbecile shut up and that he would start to obey him, or failing that at least respect him.

“We are now going to have the dessert,” Antilles said when the jury was done with Hux's dish.

Phasma tensed up by his side and Hux couldn't contain a frown. His pastry chef was usually imperturbable. He had been so focused on Ren that he hadn't really paid any attention to her, but something was off.  

The three plates were brought and uncovered and like the jury, Hux had a shudder of surprise.

“It's funny,” Lando commented. “It looks like a stone.”

“It's because it is a stone,”Luke replied, touching the object.

“I spent my childhood on a planet where sugar didn't exist. Where honey didn’t exist. Where fruits didn’t exist,” Phasma explained, face neutral and her eyes fixed far away, over the heads of the jury.

Hux thought he was going to have a heart attack. What was happening? Was Kylo Ren contagious or something?

“My mother prepared us peppered rocks to suck on for dessert to give some spice to our usually tasteless cuisine. That's why I really wanted to do this dessert for you tonight. To remind all of you that not all childhood dishes are good memories.”

“Exactly! Exactly!” agreed Ren, with vehemence.

“What do you know about it, you bloody idiot!” Hux raged, turning to him. “You were raised by one of the greatest family of chefs in the universe!”

Ren pouted, which made Hux want to grab his lower lip and pull at it with all his strength.

Without paying them any attention, Luke Skywalker started talking. “This is a nice lesson you're giving us. And I thank you for it. It is with great humility that we accept it and with which we will taste your dessert.”

“Yeah, well,” said Calrissian, who had already put his rock in his mouth, “it's just a pebble with pepper.”

“It’s a message, a symbol,” Luke explained.

“It's a pebble,” Lando replied.

“Apparently we're seeing the first disagreements in the jury,” Antilles joked. “Dear contestants, we thank you for your tasting. You go now go back to your workspaces while the jury deliberates.”

On the way back, Phasma leaned into Hux.

“Sorry,” she whispered in his ear, “I had no idea how to beat Dameron on this theme. That's why I decided to play it sentimental.”

“Let's hope it's enough,” grumbled Hux, who would have preferred to be consulted beforehand.

He had really thought, for a moment, that Phasma had turned into another Kylo.  And he had enough with only one of those.

The minutes seemed very long for Hux while he was waiting for the judgement to come. Even the team of the _Petite Résistance_ seemed more nervous than before. Yes they were chatting and laughing, but they were paler and more nervous.

Hux stayed perfectly straight at his work space, like at the beginning of the trial.

To the side, he felt Ren coming and going, squatting down, getting up, groaning, sighing – all in the most perfect imitation of a Rancor.

As for Phasma, she had got out a magazine, Hux didn't know where from, and was calmly reading, sitting cross-legged on the table. He didn't have the courage to go past Ren to tell her that a table was made to work on, not to sit on. He'd have a word later.

Eventually Wedge Antilles gestured for them to come closer and all six of them formed a line in front of the judges. Hux was more nervous that he would care to admit but he blamed Ren who was wriggling beside him as if he needed to use the bathroom.  

“Ladies and gentleman, our jury has reached a verdict which will decide which team will win this first round. Gentlemen of the jury, could you announce, for the dessert, who won the duel?”

Lando Calrissian leaned, hands crossed over the table.  

“I will admit that on this dish, the deliberations have been tough between Chef Skywalker and myself. But eventually, we chose Poe Dameron's ‘Greedy tower’. Chef Phasma's story was beautiful but Chef Dameron put more work into it and this is why we chose to reward him.”

Dameron gave a celebratory yell, which Hux found indecent. Phasma nodded. Her poker play had nearly succeeded. Never mind. There was still his dish, and maybe Ren's, that could win.

“This gives one point for the team of the _Petite Résistance,_ ” Antilles summarized, “And for the main course, who distinguished themselves?”

Hux raised his chin. He was confident. His _Bouchées à la Ren_ couldn't fail in front of a canteen dish. Ren wasn't wiggling anymore and was staring at Hux, looking like he was ready to burst into laughter if he lost. He could wait.

“For the main course,” Calrissian continued, “our votes were unanimous. It's Chef Hux's _bouchées_ which won. We're sorry, Finn, but technically and taste wise Chef Hux's dish was superior. You fought well but you were against a great chef today.”

Finn? What kind of name was that? Since when did 2187 had a name?

Hux looked at his opponent from the corner of his eye. He had his head bowed and his lower lip between his teeth to hide his emotions. What did he think, the commis? That he was capable of brushing him off? At a washing up contest, maybe, but certainly not at the stove!

Poe Dameron put his hand on “Finn's” shoulder to comfort him.

“You really did a great plate, Finn. You'll get it next time.”

You can count on it, Hux thought, wrinkling his nose..

“We believe in you, Finn,” the Girl added, taking his arm.

Ugh! All this debauchery of nice sugary feelings was enough to make his teeth rot! Luckily he had Ren's pouting face to distract him. This idiot didn't really think he would lose against an ex kitchen help? Or he was nervous because now it was his turn to be judged. Anyway, he was wearing a three foot long face, biting the inside of his mouth, and his big nose was pointed towards his shoes.

“We're at a perfect equality between the team of the _Finalizer_ and the team from the _Petite Résistance_ ,” Wedge Antilles insisted. “So the first courses will make the difference and determine who won the first round. Lando?”

Calrissian first observed the Girl who was bouncing on her feet, eyes shiny and hands over her breast, and Ren still fascinated by the floor but now radiating his usual animosity.  

Whatever the results, he was ready to let loose the beast inside him and Hux was exhausted just thinking about it. Because if anything serious happened, he would be the one responsible, not Snoke, and even less Ren himself.

“For the first course,” Lando eventually declared, “we once again had a lot of trouble to decide. The freshness and emotion of Rey's dish really touched us. As for Benny's dish, it was well executed and full of authenticity. Congratulations, both of you for what you’ve produced.”

“Thank you Chef! Erm… Mr Calrissian,” the Girl beamed, as if she had already won.

Ren grumbled something that even Hux beside him didn't understand. But he doubted that those were thanks. Most likely correcting his name.

“However, we chose to give the victory to Rey's dish…”

“WHAAAAT!!!!!!!!!!”

Ren's scream froze everyone, except Luke Skywalker who once again rolled his eyes with strength and conviction. And Hux copied him without any discomfort.  

“My dish was much more _accomplished_ than hers! More technical! More…”

Hux stopped listening to him then. What did Ren know? He hadn't seen nor tasted the Girl's dish.

“The grapefruit was too much, Ben,” Skywalker interrupted him.

“You...you…” Ren said incoherently, spreading flecks of spit over the metre or so around him.

Then he screamed again and grabbed the judges’ table, throwing it over with all his strength. Skywalker, Antilles and Calrissian grabbed it just in time to avoid it crushing Palpatine.

Without looking back, Ren left the room in long strides.

“You should learn to handle your team,” said Antilles to Hux as he helped the judges to put back the table.

Hux gave him his best blasé look.

“It's his basic education that's to blame,” he replied.

Nobody made anything more of it, wanting to leave Ren and his problems to one side for the moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Antilles continued, “After this brief interlude, we can conclude that it is the _Petite Résistance_ who won this first round, two points against one. The next trial will take place in three days at the _Petite Résistance._ I hope to see as many of you and thank you to our candidates and also the members of the jury. See you soon!”

The candidates saluted the jury one last time, then they left the room under rather timid applause. The members of the _Petite Résistance_ didn't stop congratulating each others and Hux walked faster to get away from them. He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder. Poe Dameron.

“Congratulation to your team, General,” he told Hux with a wink “It was a very nice competition.”

Hux forced a smile that was as believable as if he’d bitten into a stalk of broccoli.

“And congratulations, eh, for handling that beast. You have a damned strong character. The last time I saw him, he left me with a pretty bad memory.”

“Kylo Ren is a talented chef who, just like many great artists, has some emotional troubles. But I don't doubt that his present failure will motivate him to put his heart into his dish during the next trial.”

Hux only hoped he wouldn't do it _literally_.  

“...and that we will win the trial with flying colours,” he concluded. “Meanwhile, I wish you a good day, Chef Dameron.”

“Poe! not Chef Dameron”

“Chef Dameron,” Hux insisted coldly before walking away.

No, but what was this guy thinking? He ran away before signing his contract, stole one of his commis chefs, beat him in the first round of a cooking competition and he thought he could be all matey-matey with Hux, with winks, charming smiles and wandering hands. Sorry but it didn’t work like that! Not with Hux!

And what was that about insulting Ren? Hux didn't usually speak up to defend him and he didn't believe a single word of what he had said. Ren was just an imbecile with the personality of a prepubescent child. But dragging him in the dirt was Hux's role and not Dameron's! And he wouldn't let anyone step on his toes!

He was already upset to have lost this round, and Dameron had to go and add another layer. Hux was tempted to do the dessert in the next trial, just in order to humiliate him on his own turf. And on top of that, before leaving the room he had glanced up at the grandstand to notice that Snoke had already left. What the hell was he playing at? First he put Ren in their team and now, instead of supporting the team, he disappeared. Hux was feeling more and more frustrated.

It didn't get better as he pushed open the door of the locker room and discovered the chaos reigning there. Ren had turned everything upside down. The benches were turned over, the doors of the lockers smashed and even the bins had been flung through the room. As for Ren, he was sat on the only stool still intact, in front of his locker, nose in his grandfather’s old chef's hat, to which he was mumbling hateful words. He was showing Hux his naked back, his very muscular, sweaty, mole covered back, his jacket having been thrown on the floor at the end of his tantrum.

Closing the door behind him, Hux hesitated about what to do next. Comforting Ren was not imaginable. He was his head chef, not his mother nor his nanny. Ignoring him was tempting. Hux had dusted himself off as best as he could, but he was still covered in Wookie hair and he only wanted one thing: to get changed. But this would be too _lenient_ towards Ren. After all, Hux had to have authority over every member of his brigade without any exception so he decided he would use his new secret weapon.

He moved to his own locker, the rubber sole of his safety shoes squeaking on the polished floor.

“You did a beautiful dish,” Hux admitted.

“I should have won,” Ren grumbled.

“But your attitude spoiled everything,” the General continued without taking into account his colleague’s remarks. “Before you leave, you're going to tidy all this up...Benny.”

Without understanding what was going on, Hux found himself pushed against the metallic door of his locker, Ren's huge hand around his neck and his boiling forehead against his own. If there was something he couldn't take away from Ren it was that he was quick. And strong, really strong. Much more than Hux.

“Use this name once again,” Ren growled with his deep voice, “and I'll strangle you with your own guts."

Hux tried to pull himself free but he wasn't in the same weight category as the enormous mass of brute strength that held him up. “I'm not scared of you,” he replied, breathless and voice hoarse.

Even threatened like this, he was never going to give an inch.

Ren squeezed harder and Hux started to feel the lack of air. He had to find a way out and fast. Maybe he wasn't as athletic than Ren but he wasn’t helpless. And facing brute force, he knew a solution that never failed, a good hard knee in the privates!

He didn't understand too much what actually happened then. Maybe it was the lack of air. Or exhaustion from the competition. But instead of raising his knee violently, he slid his thigh in between Ren’s.

The latter quickly moved away, as if he had been burned. He stared at Hux for a few seconds, eyes wide and mouth slightly open then he got out of the locker room and ran off, bare chested, into the corridors of the ship.

“Imbecile,” Hux mumbled, rubbing his bruised neck.

But this time he didn't know if he was talking about Ren or himself.

At least, he had concluded that only men over sixty could call Ren ‘Benny’ without risking their deaths. He'd remember that...

He picked up Ren's wrinkled jacket and what he assumed was Vader's hat, and threw them in their owner's locker which he slammed shut.

Then he turned to his own locker to finally get rid of his clothes that were covered in Wookiee hairs and smelling like Ren.

“Imbecile,” he repeated through gritted teeth.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [verybadhedgehog](http://verybadhedgehog.tumblr.com) and [eridaniepsilon](http://eridaniepsilon.tumblr.com), chapter 3 is online. Thank you so much to both of you

Hux sighed and stretched to loosen his back as much as he could. They had by now been on board the shuttle taking them to  the _ Petite Résistance _ for hours, and the atmosphere on board was frosty.

He hadn’t seen Ren since what he was calling in his head their “altercation” in the changing room. And from the moment they’d got on board, the other chef had been using his curtain of hair to hide from Hux’s gaze.

The previous day, Hux had tried to organise a team meeting to set out the strategy for the next round, but Ren hadn’t shown up. He’d found himself alone with Phasma who had spent the whole hour with her arms crossed on her chest and staring at him as if Ren’s absence was his fault. Which was probably true. But Phasma wasn’t supposed to know that. Not even guess it.

“What’s happened?” she’d asked when it had become apparent that Ren’s long nose wasn’t going to make an appearance.

Hux had shrugged. He had racked his brains for an insulting and sarcastic comment, but hadn’t come up with much of any use, and he got annoyed again when he thought back to how he’d pressed his thigh onto Ren’s crotch.

“Absolutely nothing,” he grumbled before leaving the room, the meeting cancelled.

And now he was crammed into this tiny space, on a seat that was too hard, with Ren on the bench opposite, seemingly fascinated by the paintwork on the grey metal wall, and Phasma staring at them one at a time as if she was scrutinising their souls for the tiniest clue. And that had been going on for hours. To the point where Hux asked himself if he shouldn’t close his eyes and pretend to be asleep.

Or, he could throw himself on the pilot and blow up the shuttle. That would at least put a definite end to the whole ridiculous situation.

He checked the time. They still had at least two hours of journey time before they got to D’Qar. He looked down at his fingers, which he was constantly drumming on his knees, the seating, his thighs and then back to his knees again.

Annoyed with himself for his lack of discipline, he grabbed his datapad and tried to read a little. But it was still impossible to concentrate. He felt Phasma’s eyes on him, but when he lifted his head up, she was back to her own reading. And against his will, he kept on ending up one way or another looking at Ren, or rather at a mass of hair with just a side view of nose visible, as Ren’s head was still obstinately turned towards the wall. If the idiot kept on like this, he’d give himself a stiff neck!  

Eventually, Phasma put down her “Fashion and Chrome” magazine and broke the silence.

“Since we’re all here, why not have yesterday’s meeting?”

Hux kept his mouth shut for a few seconds before answering. He had imagined this possibility, but hadn’t had it in him to be the one to speak up first, and to confront Ren. To rile him up in such a restricted space was risky. There was nowhere to hide if he had one of his famous episodes. And Hux was in danger of throwing him out into the void of space if Ren accused him of molesting him in the changing room. He had a reputation to uphold, and feeling up his colleague after service was no part of that. It was Phasma who had a harem of commis, not him. There had been a little competition between them on the subject when they’d both started on the  _ Finalizer _ , but Hux found that sleeping with subordinates caused more problems than not and he admired Phasma for managing it with such zest. Her harem worshipped her, and obeyed her every command.

“Why not,” he grunted finally.

“What meeting from yesterday?” asked Ren, still facing the other way.

“Victory! He’s stopped sulking!” said Hux, rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t sulking.” said Kylo, staring at them both now, the pout on his lips giving the lie to his words.

Hux opened his mouth. He knew he shouldn’t, and that escalating the situation wasn’t the best for the team, but that was the effect Kylo Ren had on him, and he couldn’t stop himself.

Luckily, Phasma was quicker to respond than he was.

“The General set up a meeting yesterday to discuss our strategy for this round. Didn’t you get the memo?”

“I’d blocked his messages,” Ren answered in a self-evidential tone.

Hux felt his jaw tighten.

“Well done, very mature,” he said.

Ren shrugged as if he had nothing to do with it. Which was probably true.

“In any case it’s stupid,” he added. “The only strategy is to win. No need to discuss it for hours.”

“Yes, to win,” said Hux without bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. “With real cooking. It won’t be enough to bung some squid ink in a cassoulet to ’symbolise the blackness of your soil and the flatulent nature of life’: that won’t make a great dish.”

Ren, who had been hunched over since the start of the the journey, his forearms on his thighs, stretched slightly. His face was dark, his lips pinched, and his expression haughty and at the same time outraged.

“So it’s like that. That’s how you see my cooking. When you were talking about Endor salad and I thought it was a joke, but no, that really is how you see my cooking.”

“That’s all you’ve shown me,” Hux replied with disdain.

Faced with Ren’s mutinous silence. he carried on.

“I’ve added grapefruit juice to symbolise my tears, nuh-nuh-nuh,” he said, in mocking imitation of Ren, and pulled a face that showed just what he thought of his colleague’s ideas.

Ren’s sudden blush was a surprise for Hux. Ren curled in on himself, hiding his face behind his mass of black hair again.

“You don’t understand what I’m trying to do,” he hissed between gritted teeth.

“But nobody knows what you’re trying to do!” said Hux. “And it cost us the first match.”

Ren shot a look at him. True, Hux’s last comment had been a low blow. But he would get some satisfaction from shaking this long haired idiot up a bit and forcing him to face up to his responsibilities.

“I’m gonna…” growled Ren, like an angry dog.

“Gonna… what?” Hux’s chin was raised. “Strangle me up against a wall?”

He felt that that had been a bit much. Ren went bright red and closed himself up like a mussel, his head tucked in so low that it was almost between his knees. Hux felt himself starting to go pink, the colour rising on his usually pale cheeks, up to his ears, down his neck and over his chest. It was all ridiculous!

Phasma rose suddenly and Hux thought that he was going to get a comment, and possibly a slap. But instead, she smiled politely.

“Please excuse me, gentlemen, but I must leave you for a few minutes, my bladder has reached capacity.”

And her patience too, Hux implicitly understood.

“But, please,” she continued, “carry on without me. You are on the right track.”

She gave Hux a wink, which was not so much discreet as typically indiscreet, and Hux shook his head in annoyance. She slipped through the little door at the back which led to the shuttle’s refresher.

Hux gave a long sigh and wiped his hands over his face. He was already exhausted and their two day stay on D’Qar hadn’t even started. He didn’t dare imagine what state he’d be in tomorrow, on the day of the challenge.

“Listen,” he said to Ren, “the judges liked your dish. And it could have gone either way. So, you’re not as bad a cook as I’d thought.”

Ren grunted and Hux couldn’t tell if it was in thanks or in insult. He decided to continue, to bring back a bit of team spirit before the serious stuff got started. And if he had to put a little water in his wine, as it were, tone things down a bit, he would — even if it would feel worse than being impaled on a kebab skewer. That was part of what being a good leader entailed. 

“Personally, I’m not convinced that talent is genetic. In fact, I believe more in work and discipline. But you, you were marinating in the gastronomic world since you were a little kid. You were trained by the best. You met all the great chefs. You must have been ready to crumble under the pressure of all that education. Your theoretical and practical knowledge must have been massive. And there is passion in what you do. If you can manage to channel all that, you could be the greatest ever.”

“I am the greatest ever.”

Hux sniffed. Ren had tried to put some conviction in his response, but despite the seriousness of his voice, he sounded almost like a little boy who needed to reassure himself.

“You are better than Vader?” he poked.

Ren put his back to the wall, his hands together between his legs, and looked at Hux out of the corner of his eyes.

“I will be,” he said.

“Prove it by winning your challenge. Like I told you, I believe more in work and rigour than in…”

“Fine for you to say that,” Ren interrupted, a mocking smile on his big mouth. “You father ran Palpatine’s cooking school. You met great chefs too.”

“That proves I know what I’m talking about,” Hux countered. “And my father never did me any favours,” he felt obliged to add, hating having to justify himself to Ren.

“What? You were never given a helping hand? Nobody pulled any strings for you?” Ren knew he’d got hold of one of Hux’s weak points.

“Not like some,” Hux grunted, not lowering his eyes.

Both knew that Ren was working on the  _ Finalizer  _ only because he had the support of Snoke. He had never done a test or had a job interview.

“Chef Snoke is the only one to see my true potential,” was Ren’s defence. “He knows.”

“Your family don’t believe in you?”

Ren made a vague gesture somewhere between spite and mistrust. His eyes looked like he wanted to run away, his face was otherwise without expression and his legs jiggled constantly. It was obvious that the topic of his family was a delicate one, as Hux had already guessed a long time ago.

“You said it,” Ren said after Hux had given up on an answer, “I  _ was _ crumbling under all that education. They always wanted to impose their way on me; my mother and her classics from thirty years ago, my uncle and his forgotten vegetable varieties grown in bantha manure… Nobody wanted to find out who I was and what I could do by myself.”

Hux sensed his chance to steer Ren.

“i’d like to know,” he said, leaning forward. “Show me.”

Ren looked down at Hux, but didn’t say any more. They kept looking at each other for a few long seconds.

Hux remembered well that first time Snoke presented Ren to him. His face seemed a disgrace, too long, with his eyes too small, his lips too thick, his endless nose, his shower of moles and his massive ears that he was trying to hide under a mass of ridiculous hair. Almost ugly, in fact. But he had definitely called to him, somehow. Since then, he found in him an undeniable beauty, unusual and fascinating like a painting by a grand master that it took time to understand. And he hated himself for being so weak in the face of the person who made his daily life hell. He looked away, suddenly ill at ease.

This was the moment Phasma chose to come back in. Sliding back into her seat, she picked up her magazine.

“So, did I miss anything?” she asked.

“I’m going to win my challenge” Ren answered in a steely tone.

“Oh, really,” she said, without hiding her amusement.

“I’m going to make a dish that’s up at my level, but that they can understand all the same. And without grapefruit. Or salad,” he added, with a half smile in Hux’s direction.

“Or  _ petit suisse _ cream cheese,” Hux replied.

“What?” 

Hux shook his head, amused despite himself.

“Nothing, let it go.”

 

***

 

When their shuttle landed on  the _ Petite Résistance _ ’s tarmac, the sun was setting on the stand of pines that surrounded the establishment. It looked like fire. Hux took a crafty glance at Ren and asked himself if it was really him who had set fire to his uncle’s restaurant. Knowing his temperament, he wouldn’t have been surprised. But to ask him now would not be a good plan. Their discussion on the shuttle seemed to have calmed Ren down and Hux really wanted to avoid a new clash between them.

Bags in hands, they disembarked and found Poe Dameron waiting for them, his arms folded and a smile on his face. He greeted them as soon as the hatch of their shuttle opened. 

“Hi everyone, and welcome to  the _ Petite Résistance _ ! I am your welcome committee, and I’ll show you to your rooms. I’m sorry it’s just me and that I’m not giving you a big reception, but the restaurant is open tonight and my colleagues are already at work.”

“And the customers aren’t having dessert tonight?” said Ren, giving the pastry chef a bored look.

Poe gave him a forced laugh, making it apparent how little sympathy he had for him

“I still have a few minutes before the dessert orders start to come in. So then, if you could please follow me.”

They crossed the crammed parking lot of  the _ Petite Résistance _ at quite a pace. There were ships from everywhere, which went to show how popular the place was, even though it had only been open for a few months.

Hux could tell Ren was looking into every dark corner, as if he was worried his mother was going to suddenly appear. As soon as they landed, before the hatch even opened, he had sensed Ren was tense. But it seemed Leia Organa didn’t want to run into her son any more than he wanted to run into her, and they did not meet anyone before Poe showed them in through a service entrance.

“On the right, at the back,” he said, “is the function room. As you can hear, we are full.”

A loud noise reached them from the corridor.

“We have a small kitchen attached to the function room, for finishing dishes. But the bulk of our work is in the basement. Here.”

He held a door open for them, which gave onto a concrete stairway lit with white fluorescent lights. Phasma went first, followed by Hux and Ren. Once at the bottom of the stairs, they found a familiar bustle of activity. Servers enthusiastically pushing through double doors shouting sides and table numbers. Orders bringing together chefs, cooks and commis. Pans banging on gas burners, meats browning in butter, all the smells mixing together in an almost heady fashion. Hux smiled to himself. How he loved this electric atmosphere that you had at the moment where it all came together. He almost felt like grabbing an apron and a knife and getting down to work.

“On your right, you have the main kitchen. And just behind is the patisserie lab, my domain,” he added with pride.

Then he extended his hand to a dark room.

“On the left is the room where the competition will take place. It’s nothing like the  _ Finalizer _ , of course, But we’ve been able to put a couple of spectator stands in. It’ll just be more… intimate,” he said, with a wink.

Hux caught Ren pulling a face, and he laughed. Dameron was a bit dramatic, it had to be said. Ren, was too. But in a different way. 

“I could show you round the kitchens in more detail, but I don’t want to get in the way of service. Maybe tomorrow morning if we have time?”

None of the  _ Finalizer  _ team seemed very enthusiastic about this idea, and Dameron didn’t push it.

“I’ll show you to your rooms, then. I know you’ve had a long journey and you’d like to rest.”

He walked quickly down the corridor.

“We haven’t really had guests here. But we have a few staff bedrooms. It’s fairly spartan, but clean and functional. We’ve also given you a snack plate in each of your rooms if you want to eat something.”

Quite quickly, they reached an empty area where white doors led off the hallway. Dameron took a bunch of keys out of his pocket and offered three of them.

“The room numbers are on the keys,” he said. The rooms are all the same, so no need to be jealous. Bathroom and toilets are shared – that’s the big door open over there. I’ve left my comlink number in your rooms so you can reach me if there’s any problems. Anything you need, just ask, but please no prank calls in the middle of the night.”

At the end of his speech, he turned towards Ren as if he was challenging him in particular. Ren had a mocking grin on his face, as if to say that if the idea hadn’t already occurred to him, now that Dameron had mentioned it, it would be difficult to resist.

The pastry chef clapped his hands.

“Sorry to leave you like this, but it’s getting near time for my first orders. Settle yourselves in, eat, rehydrate, take care of yourselves because tomorrow I want my opponents to be on top form!”

He winked at Hux again, who decided it was a habit he hated.

“For breakfast,” Dameron said suddenly, already a few paces away, “come up to the main room when you want. There will be someone to fix you something. So, good night, and see you in the morning!”

And he disappeared off into the corridors.

“Not the warmest welcome I’ve ever had,” said Phasma, with a little pout.

“Honestly, not the worst I’ve had,” said Ren.

“But seriously, snack plates?” 

“They maybe don’t want to show their hand to us by cooking us a proper meal,” Hux suggested.

“What did we give them when they arrived on the  _ Finalizer _ ?” asked Phasma.

Hux shrugged. “Nothing. Snoke reckoned that since they were cooks, they could fix themselves something on their own.”

“Well then. We’ve been treated like kings,” Phasma said, pushing her hand through her blonde hair. “We could have looked like proper wallies,” she chortled. 

Hux laughed a little, and even Ren joined in.

“Right then,” said Hux, finding for his room number on his key. A little rest won’t do us harm. I want each of you up and at ‘em tomorrow”

“Yes, General” Phasma answered with a military salute.

“I hope they haven’t laced the snack plates with laxatives or anything” grumbled Ren, unlocking his door.

“I don’t think so,” Phasma answered, putting a hand over her heart and opening her eyes as wide as she could. “Because we, at  the _ Petite Résistance _ , we are honest and good. We, at  _ the Petite Résistance _ , we are a group of good friends who use the power of friendship to win. We, at  the _ Petite Résistance _ , we know that only solidarity and love of life allow us to…”

“Alright, alright, that’ll do,” Hux cut in, amused despite himself. “We get the idea. Good night both of you and…”

He stopped himself, eyebrows gathered together.

“Just to be sure,” he said, “you have got your comlinks with you? As we’re in enemy territory, we should make sure we can keep in touch all the time.”

Phasma had already pulled hers out and was waving it under his nose.

“Ren?”

He pulled a face and fetched his comlink out of the bottom of his bag.

“I’ll even unblock your number,” he growled as if he was doing a special favour for Hux.  

Hux noticed he was listed in Ren’s contacts under the name of Asshole. He didn’t react, but Ren had a little cheeky smile – he wasn’t sorry at all.

“Hey, I’m Chrome Giant!” Phasma was more enthusiastic as she looked over their shoulders.

Hux wanted to say that Ren was really useless at choosing nicknames, case in point, his, but the atmosphere between the three of them was rather good at the moment and he didn’t want to be the one who ruined it. He needed his team to be right on it – if they lost tomorrow they’d be finished.

They wished each other good night again and went into their respective bedrooms.

 

***

  
  


Just like Dameron had said,  the bedroom was small but functional. There was a bed with freshly laundered sheets, a small table upon which was the much-talked-about snack plate, a wooden chair, and a chest of drawers where Hux deposited his overnight bag.

He’d known worse in his travels across the galaxy.

It was already nearly bedtime, so he wasted no time in having a go at the food. The snack plate was pretty good. Everything was cold, but well prepared and judiciously seasoned. A nice little show of skill dressed up as an insult, he thought, as he licked his lips after the final mouthful. He’d not left a thing. And he wasn’t a big eater, despite his profession.

Next, he went to the bathroom for a small ablution. He didn’t run into Phasma or Ren, and didn’t hear a sound coming from their rooms either.

He went to bed and got his datapad to read. He had a look at Vader’s great classic recipes and Palpatine’s anthologies, which were his go-to books since he was a kid. He had no problem revisiting the basics before a competition. Putting a classic touch to his dishes could be an advantage.

Hux wasn’t exactly nervous, but he would have liked to know what the theme of tomorrow’s challenge would be. He had thousands of ideas going round in his head and he wanted to put them into practice.

Having decided to get a good night’s sleep, he put the light out quite early, but not without fetching his comlink and putting it beside his pillow. Just in case Ren bugged out about seeing his mother and ran off naked into the moonlit forest. That didn’t seem beyond the bounds of possibility to Hux. 

After ten minutes without getting to sleep, he grabbed his com.

_ Don’t send abusive texts to Dameron in the middle of the night _ , he typed.

_ You are the most annoying man in the galaxy _ , Ren answered after only a few seconds.

Hux put his comlink down. At least it showed Ren was getting text messages. And he’d answered. Even if it was just to insult him, that was already progress.

This time, when he closed his eyes, Hux fell asleep instantly.

 

***

 

When he ran into Ren the next morning, it was dawn. Hux had already been up for nearly half an hour. He’d always been one of those people who get up early and like to seize the morning. He hated lounging about in bed after he’d got his sleep hours in. He did love the thought of giving a hefty kick up the backside to all and any fans of the lie-in. 

He finished shaving, having already showered, when Ren came out of one of the shower cubicles, his skin gleaming with water droplets. He had a simple white towel around his waist.

Hux had heard someone washing in a nearby cubicle, but he hadn’t figured it’d be Ren. Perhaps because he saw him first and foremost as an overgrown teenager, he always imagined he’d be the sort to stay in bed until at least midday.

“General!” Ren greeted him ironically, razor in hand.

“Ren,” he answered politely, before rinsing his face.

It wasn’t the first time that they’d seen each other in such a state of undress. After all, they shared the locker room every day. That was why Hux didn’t stop himself from discreetly casting his eyes over Ren’s formidable form. The man was an idiot, but physically speaking he was worth the journey.

Next he took his gel and comb and started to put each strand of hair in place. He needed his hair to be in perfect order.

“So that’s how you put together that unbelievable helmet.” Ren said in a mocking tone.

Hux admired himself in the mirror. He’d had the same haircut since he was a child, and he liked it. He didn’t need much time to style his hair – it was as automatic as shaving.

“Well, yes,” he said, washing his hands, “I use this amazing tool with incomparable powers. It’s called a  _ comb _ .”

He chucked the aforementioned item into Ren’s washbasin.

“You should try it from time to time.”

He gathered his things and left, feeling Ren’s gaze on his back. He’d never been so conscious of the slenderness of his waist or the freckles scattered on his shoulders.

 

***

 

Sitting in the main dining room for his breakfast, Hux expected Ren to show up not long after him. But the chef did not show himself, and it was Phasma who joined him just as some rather nice french toast and cinnamon scented hot chocolate arrived. Hux wondered if  the _ Petite Résistance _ brigade were trying to fill him up in order to make him less sharp for the competition, but the smell of the eggy bread and hot chocolate was so appetising that he dug in.

“Sleep well?” Phasma asked, taking a seat opposite him.

They were at a small round table near a large bay window which overlooked a pine forest.

“Perfectly. You?”

She pulled a face and sighed.

“What did you do?”

She shrugged. Just as Hux was about to ask again, Poe Dameron entered.

“Good morning Chef Hux! The french toast is to your liking? I made it myself.”

Dameron’s enthusiastic tone annoyed Hux, who liked things quieter in the morning, but he had the admit the breakfast was very good. He decided to be polite to his host, who, despite his annoying traits, always had a twinkle in his eye.

“It was delicious, thank you,” he said, taking another mouthful.

He noticed that Phasma had her eye on the toasts but he wasn’t going to share.

“And you, Chef Phasma,” Dameron continued with a look that Hux couldn’t figure out, “no more rodents bothered you?”

She smiled, and Hux couldn’t hold back a frown. Something had gone on, but he didn’t know what.

“No, no, I didn’t have any more problems after your assistance. Thank you, Chef Dameron.”

Before Hux could say anything, the Girl came in.

“Chef Poe-tissier!” she called. “Finn’s looking for you. He says it’s urgent.”

Dameron made a little bow.  “Another mission for the hero that I am. If you excuse me, duty calls.”

“What did you do?” Hux asked Phasma for the second time, as she gestured to a commis to bring her the same thing the General had had.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“The look on your face, the look on his face, this story about rodents.”

Phasma let out a long sigh.

“OK, well, I admit it. I may have called Dameron in the middle of the night and pretended I’d heard a strange noise in my room.”

“What” Hux was shocked. “You slept with him?”

Now Phasma was shocked. “No! Of course not! I just wanted to ruin his night’s sleep so he’d be off form today.”

“That’s not quite cricket,” Hux grumbled, taking a mouthful of chocolate. Not too sweet, just like it should be, smooth and velvety.

“We’re not supposed to be the nice ones,” Phasma muttered, keeping an eye out for her plate of french toasts.

“I suppose,” Hux sighed. “But I don’t know why you felt the need to do it.”

She leaned forward, a serious look on her face. “Hux, he’s the best pastry chef in the world. And he has the best cooking robot in the world. If I want to win, I have to find a way. The pebble didn’t work the first time, so I had to try something else.”

Hux shook his head. “It’s ridiculous. You don’t need to. You are the pastry chef of the  _ Finalizer _ , and the  _ Finalizer  _ is considered to be the best restaurant in the galaxy.”

“Was considered to be”

“Is considered. And honestly the pastry chef of the best restaurant in the galaxy has nothing to fear from a showoff who can’t even be bothered to serve croissants for breakfast and thinks grandma’s old eggy bread will do.”

Phasma smiled.

“Even if it is very good grandma’s eggy bread,” he felt he had to add in the interests of honesty.

“Chef Hux, ego-booster!” she said, gently mocking him. “I’d never thought I’d see the day. Careful, the way you’re going, soon you’ll be giving compliments to Ren.”

Hux shook his head. He did have to ask himself what had happened to that particular nugget. He hoped he wasn’t hiding in his room for fear of running into his mother. For a second, he considered sending some food up to him, before deciding it was a stupid idea.

A waiter brought Phasma’s plate of eggy bread and they continued their breakfast in peace.

 

***

 

Hux passed the next hours in his room, mostly reading and mentally preparing for the competition. Phasma had taken a siesta, and he had no idea what Ren was doing. Hux thought of sending him a text but he didn’t really have any reason. After all, they’d never been close, more inclined to yell at each other than to chat. He hoped the impetuous chef would be able to manage himself and his stress.

In early afternoon, even down in the basement, he heard the first shuttles landing on the parking area. The spectators were arriving, and it was time for Hux to get ready,

He put on his dark jacket, his multicoloured trousers and his safety shoes. Then he checked his hair in a pocket mirror. It hadn’t budged. Good job, too, since he’d left his comb with Ren, all for the sake of a little quip and a little dig. He’d have to find a way to get it back the next morning.

He checked the time again and reckoned it was time to get down to the competition hall, at least to be able to look over the workstations and equipment. He grabbed his knife case and left the room. The noise of a slamming door behind him made him turn around. Ren was in the corridor, dressed in his uniform, and his hair neatly styled. Hux wondered if he’d used the comb, or if he was imagining things and actually Kylo’s hair was just the same as always.

“There you are at last,” he said.

Ren carefully locked his door before answering. “Were you worried?” he asked, a little smile on his lips.

“For the team, yes. A withdrawal would have terrible consequences.”

“I’m not going to withdraw,” Ren said.

“Even if a hundred-and-fiftieth uncle turns up?” teased Hux as they walked side by side down the corridor.

“I’m prepared for anything. Even if my mother comes up to me. I’ve meditated all day and I’m ready.”

“You what?”

“I meditated,” Ren said, with a big pout right in Hux’s half-incredulous half-amused face.

Hux laughed.

“Oh, I see,” Ren said. “I know I have behavioural problems! So, I meditate. It helps me.”

Hux needed all his force of will to wipe the amusement off his face. “I admit, I didn’t see you as the meditation type, but…” His mind was going nineteen to the dozen to get the conversation back on track. This wasn’t the time to get into it with Ren, who had made an unprecedented showing of good will so far this morning. “… it’s a very mature behaviour and I congratulate you,” he added, hoping the rather flat compliment would be enough to mollify Ren.

Ren grumbled, not particularly fooled, but he wasn’t wearing his usually combative expression either.

It was in a comfortable silence that they reached the hall. The doors were wide open and a bright light shone through, accompanied by a constant murmur of voices and shuffling feet. Wedge Antilles was standing by the entrance.

“You are early, gentlemen,” he said as they approached, without any other greeting.

“We’d like to make the most of our surroundings before the challenges start,” Hux answered, in a professional tone.

“As you wish,” replied Antilles, letting them through.

Hux turned towards Ren. He hadn’t yelled abuse at his uncle. He wasn’t sulking. He didn’t stare at his feet like a teenager forced to move. He seemed to have improved. Perhaps this meditation business worked.

The hall was similar to how they’d set things up on the  _ Finalizer _ , but smaller. Quite a lot smaller. On each side, three work stations, and the judge’s table was very close. Everything was closer together: the cupboards, the sinks, the cooking area, the fridges, everything was almost piled one on top of the other. They were going to have to be careful not to get in each other’s way during the competition. But the biggest difference was the spectator seating: much smaller and closer to the stage. The spectators on the first rows were almost at their eye level and it would take plenty of concentration to ignore them. Especially as more and more spectators kept arriving, up the stairs leading from the ground floor.

Hux wasn’t too bothered. He knew he was disciplined enough to not get distracted. Phasma would be fine, too. Ren, though…

He turned round to Ren and found him livid, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. The power of meditation seemed to be rather short-lived.

“What’s happened now,” he asked, unable to suppress his exasperation,.

“My father… is there…” Ren had trouble getting his words out, and gripped Hux so hard by the forearm that it was actually painful.

“This buggering idiot and his stupid big hands!” thought Hux, but without trying to disengage himself. Instead, he looked where Ren was looking.

“The Wookiee?” he asked, without hiding his surprise. That would explain the general hairiness.

“No!” Ren cried, giving him a dark look. “That’s my uncle Chewie. Next to him!”

Next to the Wookiee was a man of sixty-odd, a somewhat mocking smile on his lips, wearing clothes that would have been more suited to someone half his age. He seemed to be in the middle of a conversation with Lando Calrissian, who was laughing out loud.

Hux knew the face of Han Solo. He was known by all the cooks and chefs in the galaxy. But the General tended to forget that he was Ren’s father. He didn’t really match the rest of the scene. Most of Ren’s family were great cooks, but Ren’s father had never touched a saucepan in his life. Well, except for the ship he piloted. He was a kind of black market trader, a smuggler, able to get you rare meats or supposedly extinct vegetables – for a steep price, it had to be said. Many famous chefs had called on his services, but few were keen to admit it. And nobody understood how a woman of Leia Organa’s calibre had ended up with a sweet-talking bandit. He must have been a very handsome man in his youth, Hux imagined.

The only good thing that Solo was known for was that he had closed down the vile Jabba’s Pizza Hutt chain, putting a stop to that particular alien’s attempt to impose bad food on the galaxy.

The Wookiee tapped Solo on the shoulder with an indistinct groan, and Solo turned in the direction of Ren and Hux.

“Hey! Benny!” he shouted, raising his hand, with a radiant smile and sparkle in his eye.

His felt Ren’s hand leave his arm, and in a storm of hair the troubled chef left the room. Hux hesitated just for an instant before hurrying after him.

“Ren!” he called, stalking the corridors in search of the great dark mass. “REN!”

He knew that this meditation thing was a bunch of crap. Yoga, flowers and natural yoghurt had never helped anyone. Work and discipline were the only way! And now they were in danger of losing a member of the team just because he couldn’t manage his parental problems.

Well, yes, on principle he didn’t want Ren on the team. But now they were on D’Qar, better to have Ren than nobody. Hux unfortunately had just the one pair of hands and to put together two exceptional dishes under competition conditions would be difficult even for him.

“REN!” he shouted again, this time with anger in his voice.

He would drag this overgrown teenager back to his work station, and by the skin of his buttocks if necessary! He wasn’t going to put his career in danger for the sake of such a fool and if he had to poke him in the eyes to stop him seeing uncles and mothers and fathers everywhere, he would do it. He hadn’t worked so hard all these years to be going all softly-softly now.

He covered the massive underground network of corridors in large paces. Unluckily, Ren’s paces were even longer than his and he looked to have taken the early lead. Upping his pace, Hux felt drops of sweat appearing on his forehead and running down his neck. He must have been bright red. What a waste of energy when there were more important things to be doing!

He realised he’d reached the area where the staff bedrooms were. Without hesitation, he banged on Ren’s door.

“REN! OPEN UP YOU IDIOT!”  he hollered through the wood. But shouting and insults did nothing to open the door. Hux put his ear to the door and listened. Silence.

“Shit,” he said, holding back even worse language. “Think! Think! Think!” he said over and over to himself.

The first step would actually be to take a step back. To calm down. He went into the bathroom and washed his face. As he’d guessed, his cheeks were red. He couldn’t go back in the hall like that, especially not without Ren. He leant down to the tap and drank a mouthful of nice cold water. So. What to do now? Ren wasn’t opening the door, and probably wasn’t even in the room. Perhaps he was already deep in the forest. Or perhaps he’d stolen a ship and disappeared off into space. With him, Hux expected anything and everything.

He thought of calling Poe. He probably had a spare key. Then he closed his eyes, feeling stupid. He could try calling Ren! In the heat of the moment, and the heat of his anger, he hadn’t even thought of it. The chance he’d answer was slim, ad he’d probably blocked Hux’s number again, but it would only take a few seconds to try. He got his comlink from his pocket and tapped on Ren’s contact details.

A beep came from behind him. 

Frowning, he approached the toilet stalls. He opened them one by one, and in the final one, Ren was sitting with his head between his hands.

“Seriously?” asked Hux. “Hiding in the toilets? Like a teenager?”

“Leave me alone,” muttered Ren, without looking at him.

“That’s what you think,” Hux said, grabbing Ren by the arm. “We have a competition to win, and you’re coming with me.”

Ren violently detached himself from Hux’s grip, but without looking at him. His lips trembled.

“I’m not coming with you.”

“You told me that you wouldn’t withdraw.”

“That was before my dad got here.”

Hux sighed long and loud, hoping to get his exasperation across to Ren, who was sounding more and more like a feeble bloody child.

“So, seeing your mother, that would be OK this time, but your father, that crosses a line?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh yes,” Hux said with sarcasm. “My relationship with my father is perfect. We’re the best of friends.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ren repeated through gritted teeth,

“What? Did he abuse you?”

This time, Ren raised his head, frowning.

“No! Absolutely not! but you don’t know my dad. He’s rude, arrogant”

“Ah, so that’s where you…”

Ren kept on talking, so Hux didn’t finish the insult.

“He thinks he knows better than everyone else. And his friends! Argh! No, but you have to hear his jokes! He wanted me to be like him, this cool guy, all matey with everyone. But that’s not me! And this way he has of always coming to hug me in front of everyone, treating me like there’s something wrong with me just because…”

Hux grabbed Ren’s hands, with which he was gesticulating wildly. This had the effect of making him shut up and of putting a little colour in his cheeks.

“If I understand you properly,” Hux said calmly, “you hate your father because he makes jokes and he has friends? Is that about right?”

“No,” grumbled Ren, trying to get his hands out of Hux’s firm grip. “It’s more complicated than...”

“Because if you like, I can tell you about my dad. He doesn’t joke. Never has. And he doesn’t have friends. Just relations. And if he thought I was being arrogant when I tried to make a little joke, it was a slap. And if I was less than perfect, a slap. And if I messed up cooking my asparagus, a slap. The only thing my father could tolerate was total excellence. And maybe that’s what’s made me the most annoying man in the galaxy. But at least you don’t catch me crying about my lot, hiding in the toilets of a crappy restaurant!”

He knew he was more worked up than he should have been, his eyes shining with passion and his voice raised. But he couldn’t stand Ren’s attitude. And if he had to drag him by the hand back to the kitchen, he would.

“The job I have now,” he continued, “I worked my whole life for. And I’ve earned it. And I absolutely don’t want to lose everything because of some brute who isn’t able to face up to his life like an adult and who sulks about grudges from fifteen years ago. So, no, I’m not going to cry about your tragic childhood and your dad’s jokes and your mum’s boring cooking and your uncle’s hippy meanderings. I’m not going to pity poor little Benny who was born into the most famous family of chefs in the galaxy and who could already have been the most famous chef in history if he didn’t spend his time ruining everything by his childish, stupid, blind actions! Poor little Benny has had enough pity from himself – he doesn’t need my help. No, my job is to fetch Kylo Ren and bring him back to the kitchen. Not so he can prove his worth; I no longer have any illusions there. But so he doesn’t bugger up everything I’ve spend years building up. So now, you’re going to move your arse from this toilet and go do your sodding job as a chef because having an adolescent crisis at thirty years old, that’s certainly something alright, but I have had more than ENOUGH!”

He realised he was right up in Ren’s face, but he wasn’t going to apologise. He was shivering with a rage that he had kept bottle up for too long. For sure, he and Ren had had big rows, but this was the first time he’d actually said what was on his mind. And he didn’t regret a single word. Even if it mean the end of their implicit truce that had started with their conversation on the shuttle. And the fact they probably weren’t going to share any more little digs, like they had this morning in the bathroom. And that did weigh on Hux somewhat, deep down. But he was a man who knew his priorities and right now he had to win this bloody second leg of the competition. Never mind Ren’s state of mind. Or his.

Ren was staring at him with an expression he’d never seen before. A strange mixture of a puppy-dog look and a mouth dangling open as if his jaw muscles weren’t working properly. Then, all of a sudden, his face hardened up, and he pulled so hard to get his hands away from Hux’s, that Hux nearly fell over on top of him.

“You’re just like the others,” Ren grumbled. “You don’t care about my feelings.”

“Nope,” said Hux, folding his arms.

“You really are an asshole,” Ren said.

“First impressions are usually correct.”

As they were leaving the bathroom, Ren waved a nervous finger at him. “I’m going to make an exceptional dish, you hear me. The best dish the galaxy has ever seen. But I’m not going to do it to win your precious competition. Or to impress my family. I’m going to do it so everyone knows I’m a better cook than you and I should be the head chef of the  _ Finalizer _ !”

 Hux was almost expecting Ren to spit at him, but after having stared him down for several seconds, Ren left. Hux let him get a head start. His fists were clenched and his nails dug into his palms. Ren was going back to the kitchen, and that was the main thing. He would worry about the consequences later.


	4. Chapter 4

Hux did not flinch when he arrived in the kitchen and noticed everybody was already there, including Ren, and that they were all waiting for him. He checked the time and he realised there were two minutes left before the beginning of the challenge. Even though he wasn’t early, he wasn’t shamefully late, either. Even if Wedge Antilles did give him a hard stare from the table where the three jury members were already sitting. 

The audience weren’t yet settled, and there was plenty of chat going on, even among their opponents. They were gathered around Poe, who was setting up his BB8.

Phasma stopped Hux when he passed next to her.

“What happened?” she whispered, obviously anxious about his late arrival.

He shrugged. “Ren and I had a little talk,” he confessed, as he figured that for the sake of team spirit he’d better not hide the truth from her.

She frowned and tilted her head. “When you say ‘little talk,’ is it a metaphor for a row, or for a quickie?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “A row!” he yelled, as it was obvious, and he couldn’t comprehend how she could consider anything else. 

She nodded gravely. “Well, this reassures me somewhat, because going by the looks on your faces, it would have been the worst sex  _ ever _ . I mean, sulking is the default mode for the two of you, but you’re reaching new levels here.”

“Why don’t you rather think about your challenge?” he answered curtly. He wasn’t in the habit of scolding her, but she had picked the wrong day! And, on top of that, it was time to start.

He passed behind Ren without sparing him a glance, and settled at his table. In his rush, he had thrown his knife case off the bench, where it had stayed askew. He frowned before picking it up to put it in a perfect alignment on the lower shelf.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Wedge Antilles.

Straight away, Hux stood at attention, hands behind his back in his usual pose. It was time for him to concentrate. Not only did he have to crush the squad from the  _ Petite Résistance _ , but he also had to be better than Ren.

He clenched his fists. No. Ren could not be part of his priorities. He had to rise above what had happened, and focus only on the prospect of humiliating his opponents. In any case, Ren would probably make a dish of baked chicory adorned with a big gob of spit, to symbolize the bitterness he felt towards his father. 

Hux took a deep breath. He had to stop denigrating Ren’s cooking. Ren seemed ready to crush Hux under his heels and under his pans. Figuratively and literally. Hatred was a potent drive, and Hux had just fueled him with a healthy - or maybe not so much - amount. 

He cursed internally. He had yet again let his thoughts drift back to Ren. While his thoughts had been wandering, Antilles had time enough to present the jury and the candidates. He was presently summarising the first trial and explaining how the  _ Petite Résistance _ had taken a short head on the  _ Finalizer _ . Even if the score had been a close call, a defeat was a defeat in Hux’s eyes, and he was not too fond of being reminded of it.

He could feel his facial muscles contracting a bit more,which he had barely thought possible. And he had an awful trouble not looking at Ren when Antilles described Uncle Chewie’s soup, an evocation which brought out an enthusiastic Wookiee shout from the audience. A quick glance confirmed that yes, Uncle Chewie was there, with Han Solo who was talking at his smiling wife’s ear. Such a nice family gathering. He also spotted Snoke two rows higher, more interested in his conversation with his neighbour than in his team. Hux felt his rage against his boss increase. Considering his attitude during the first trial, he had expected him not to be present. And he could not understand why, as he had made the effort of coming to D’Qar, he hadn’t even some time to say hello. Hux had the distinct impression that Snoke was there only for the sake of appearances and to chat with the other spectators. It was up to him to take charge, if they couldn’t count on the owner of their restaurant.

In the meantime, Wedge Antilles had finished his spiel and was raising his arms to silence the audience.

Once the chattering had subsided, he turned towards the two teams.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dear members of the jury, dear candidates. It is now time to start the second trial. The contestants will have two hours to prepare a dish with a common theme. You can prepare a starter, a main course or a dessert. You’ll be judged on the quality of the dish, meaning on the work you put in, technical complexity, taste, creativity, presentation, etc. The judges will not pass on any aspect. After the tasting, they will decide the three best dishes and the team which wins most points wins this second trial. Is everything clear?”

“Yes!” answered the three cooks of the Petite Résistance, in unison and with great enthusiasm.

Hux had the same answer but much calmer. Phasma growled something and Ren stayed silent but Hux could feel the waves of negativity emanating from him.

“Good,” Antilles approved. “I will now disclose the theme for today. You will have one minute to consult your team members and then the pantry will open for 5 minutes. You will not be allowed to go back to it so choose wisely.”

Hux breathed as calmly as he could. The excitement of the contest was starting to get to him. It was a positive stress, however, the kind that pushes you to go further, to be better. He just had to take care not to let himself be overwhelmed.

“Dear contestants, today’s theme is …. Poultry! Good luck to all of you. You have one minute now.”

“What about for the pastry chefs?” Phasma shouted to cover the brouhaha the announcement had triggered.

“It's the same,” confirmed Antilles. “ It’s up to you to be creative.”

Hux very distinctly heard Phasma swear. To prepare a dessert with meat would always be a challenge….

“Phasma!” he called.

If he had already a precise idea of what he wanted to do, he knew it was his duty to help those put in a difficult position by the theme. Hux had been raised in a family of meat-eaters. He had been taught from childhood how to prepare meat in all its forms and he knew dozens of poultry recipes, and he knew his favorite. But Phasma loved sugar and fruits, chocolate and caramel. All products which did not exactly match well with gizzard. Hux knew he had to give her his help, especially knowing her fear of Dameron. 

She came to him with a closed-off expression on her face. 

“You know what you’ll do?”

She grimaced. “Something sweet and salty obviously,” she grumbled. “I was thinking of something  with foie gras and fig?”

He shook his head. It was too obvious. Phasma had a very good technique but in stressful situations she lacked imagination. Hux knew she had it in herself do to much better.

“It’s too classical.” He finally answered. “Once in the pantry, look at what’s there and figure out new associations. I’m confident that you can go off the beaten path.”

She nodded vehemently, her face determined. That was already something.

“And don’t forget that Dameron is probably no more at ease than you. It’s your chance to beat him.”

She seemed to relax with his last comment. Hux knew he could count on her. His other colleague, though… Having no way to escape the confrontation, he turned towards Ren.

“What about you?” He asked. “What are you planning?”

“The dick,” he answered calmly seeking his gaze. 

“I’m sorry?” Hux protested, eyebrow raised. 

“The duck,” Ren said. “I said the duck.”

Hux barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Alright, he was naturally haughty, unpleasant and ambitious but he did not deserve this! Well, as long as Ren put out a good enough dish...

“What are you planning to do with it?”

“A cassoulet with squid ink,” Ren answered, referring to their discussion in the shuttle. 

Little shit, thought Hux whose irritation was raising again. Ren must be thinking he was very funny, very witty.

Unfortunately, Wedge Antilles spoke before he could share his opinion with Ren.

“The pantry will open in … five.. four… three...two….one… Now!”

Immediately Kylo Ren surged forward, Phasma behind him and Hux on her tail.

As Hux had foreseen it, everybody was jostling to reach the pantry, but the _ Finalizer’ _ s team had the height advantage and Ren pushed the Girl away to enter first.

“Hey!” She protested, holding her arm.

“You!” The former FN-2187 threatened Ren with a raised finger. 

The look Ren threw at him was enough to have him take a step back. Phasma took her chance to squeeze through, and Hux followed. He had time enough to hear the muttered “Brute!” from the Traitor, and Dameron asking the Girl if she was alright, before discovering the supplies of the pantry. 

A central table displayed a heap of poultry, of every species, size and planetary origin. Shelves on the side contained the vegetables and spices. Hux promptly grabbed what he knew he’d need, and scanned the shelves for new ideas. The amount of ingrédients was so large that he had to sort, catalogue and select as fast as a computer would. But god did he love that!

When Ren passed next to him, Hux noticed the two large ducks, but no beans. At least the cassoulet was once more just a barb to annoy him. However, Hux wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or worried, because now he truly had no idea about what Ren was planning to do. Well, he’d see, and anyways he had no influence on the man...

“What?” Ren growled when he realised Hux was eying his basket.

“You forgot the squid ink,” he answered with a shrug. “And the grapefruit.”

Despite his closed off face, Hux seemed to detect a slight spark of amusement in Ren’s eye. And then, as slowly as he could and his gaze fixed on Hux’s one, the tall cook extended his hand to grab a pack of _ petits suisses _ .

Then, without a word, and in a style Hux would call far too dramatic, he turned and left. Hux did not move for a short while, allowing him to gather his spirits. He had trouble figuring out exactly what he was feeling. Exasperation, definitely. Worry, as well. But also a strange sense of euphoria. He didn't know what Ren was thinking or intending, but even in his anger, the man had not lost his dry humour, and that cheered Hux far more than he would have expected.

“Two minutes!” Antilles announced, effectively pulling Hux out of his stupor.

He reached up over Dameron’s head to quickly grab a few carrots, and squeezed between the Traitor and the Girl to grab a handful of dried fruits.

His opponent's baskets were quite full but it was hard to determine what they were planning  to cook from their content. The Girl had a capon, the Traitor, pigeons and as for Dameron, he had picked a whole rabbit. At least none of them had taken the same fowl or game as him.

Estimating that he had everything he needed, he went to Phasma, who was standing still in front of the shelves. Thankfully she had a few ingredients. And if she had some foie gras, she had left the figs aside.

“Ideas?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, her fingers waving in front of a broccoli, hesitating to grab it.

“Forget the broccoli, it’s disgusting,” Hux advised her. “Take some celery instead. And hurry up, time’s almost up.”

He did a last assessment of his own basket, and then of the pantry to be sure he had not forgotten anything. When he went once again to Phasma, he nodded at her now full basket.

Once at his table, he started with his side dish. He had a  _ jus _ to prepare and he wanted to get going on that first of all. And then that would be cooking while he prepared the three quails he had chosen. He had a clear idea of his recipe – a classic basis to which he’d add a good amount of modernism. The two hours would pass in a blur with the amount of work he had on his plate, but he knew he could do it, providing nothing would come to interrupt him. And if he managed to ignore the growls and pants coming from Ren, who was eviscerating his ducks with the enthusiasm of a lion cub.  

Once more, Hux had trouble concentrating with the chaos his neighbour generated. But he knew that if he opened his mouth to protest, he would end up with the guts of the unfortunate web-footed bird on his jacket, and he had had enough last time with Wookiee hairs.

Hux threw his trimmed onions in a bowl and started to peel the carrots when a shadow settled itself in front of him. He raised his eyes, convinced it was Ren even if he could still hear him howl.

He kept from starting when he met Luke Skywalker’s blue eyes. He realised then that the judges, except for Palpatine, had stood up to inspect the work of the contestants. He lowered his head again. Being watched did not scare him. He knew his technique was perfect and he was sure about the quality of his interprétation.

“Quails?” Skywalker commented

“Yes Chef.”

“An interesting choice. And you’re gonna bone them?”

“Of course, Chef. The bones will be the base for my sauce.”

“That’s classic….”

“It’s only the start of my recipe,” Hux retorted, slightly annoyed.

Skywalker started to dig in Hux’s basket. Hux did not like it but did not comment further, and kept working. It was not the right times to displease the jury. And moreover he had no time to lose in sterile small talks.

“I thought you were like your father,” Skywalker started, taking Hux aback. 

If Hux hated something, it was to be compared with his father. With any of his family, in fact.

“A good technician,” Ren’s uncle kept going. “But no heart, just method. And seeing you I had the same impression.”

Hux barely kept back a snort of derision. He didn’t want to interrupt Skywalker but he was having more and more trouble focusing on his carrots.

“But your previous dish, and what I guess here, proves me wrong. Even if you try to hide it, there is passion in you. I only hope you’ll know where to put it.”

Hux did have an idea about where he wanted to put his passion. And his mind absolutely did not digress towards Ren. Absolutely not. But he knew Skywalker was only talking about his cooking and Hux felt ready to impress him once more.

“I won’t disappoint you, Chef,” he answered while adding the diced carrots to the onions.

Skywalker nodded and left his table, passed Ren’s without a glance, and stopped in front of Phasma. Hux focused once more on his recipe. He hoped Calrissian would not come bother him too. He still had a good amount of work to do, the processing of the quails not being the least of it.

He opened his knife case and picked the sharpest one. To bone a quail asked for a lot of diligence. He had to do it while the animal was still cold and thus the skin less fragile. He had done it hundreds of times, but never during a contest and not since a while. As always, he was sure of himself but knew also that he could easily slip and make a mistake.

Concentrating, he started with an incision of the skin that uncovered the joints of the wings. He was reassured with the precise gestures which came to him automatically. The three quails would only take a few minutes. 

The first one done, he put the bones in a bowl on the table and the body that he was going to stuff in a dish in the refrigerator. With the chefs still hanging around, now was not the time to be accused of disrupting the cold chain. He had to be perfect from beginning to end.

Picking the second quail from the refrigerator, he went back to his table. He put it exactly where he had worked on the first one and picked his knife back. Or rather, his hand felt around, looking for it. Frowning, he scanned the table. No knife.

He looked down but it was not on the lower shelf, nor on the floor. He sighed. He was sure he had not put it away to wash! He went to the sink to check, but there was nothing there.

He clenched his jaw. Something was wrong here. He was not one to lose his things, especially not his best knife. He had to have dropped it or...

Going back at his table, he knelt on the floor to search down there one more time. When he straightened back up, red and furious not having found it, he eventually saw it. In Ren’s huge paw. He felt the icy rage taking possession of him once more. Without hesitation, he laid siege to Ren’s table.

“My knife,” he claimed, in a voice that would not tolerate any contradiction.

“Just a second,” Ren muttered without even looking at him.

“My knife,” Hux insisted with the same cold voice, now spiced with impatience.

“I’m almost done!” Ren answered with annoyance, still busy with the skin of his duck.

Without thinking, Hux grabbed his arm, effectively immobilizing it. Ren turned towards him and he looked so annoyed that Hux was surprised he wasn’t frothing. He held him more firmly, to ensure said knife would not end up in his guts.

“I need my knife, now,” he said again, not letting himself be bullied.

“Me too,” Ren said.

“But it’s  _ my _ knife,” Hux pointed. “Don’t you have your knives?”

Ren lowered his head, suddenly embarrassed.

But Hux remembered seeing him with a knife case. He bent down, only to see it open but in total disarray. For Hux, knives were sorted by size, one for each use. But Ren’s had been thrown together in an utter chaos. There was some consistency: all were old, dulled and of rather mediocre quality. They were assistant's knives, and probably those Ren had got when he started and which he never had replaced. On the  _ Finalizer  _ it was not a problem, as the restaurant was packed with good tools, but here Ren just had his antiquities that were only good to sever a finger. Some even seemed home made, with a handle held on with duct tape. 

“Is this a joke?” Hux asked, forgetting his own knife.

“That’s all I’ve got,” Ren growled without looking at Hux. 

“And your family never paid for new ones?”

“I don’t want anything from them!” Ren spat, confirming that once in his life he had better knives, but he gotten rid of them.

Hux sighed.

“And it never crossed your mind to buy new ones! We are paying you on the  _ Finalizer _ , right?”

Paid much more than he deserved, he could not help thinking. 

“I never needed to!”

Their voices were starting to raise dangerously but, as always with Ren, Hux seemed incapable of restraining himself. 

“And, you never bothered to… I don’t know… get your grandfather's knife back?!”

Hux had just wanted to throw a barb, but as soon as he finished his sentence, Ren escaped his hold and turned towards him, face scarlet and with more anger in his eyes than Hux had ever seen.

“No, I didn’t get my grandfather’s knife back!” he barked, and for the first time, Hux recoiled, not really scared but not exactly at ease.

“I DID NOT GET MY GRANDFATHER’S KNIFE!” Ren repeated, this time yelling. 

An awkward silence had fallen  in the room, and Hux knew that, once more, all eyes were on them. 

“Ben…” Antilles warned. But he was ignored. 

“AND YOU KNOW WHY I DID NOT GET MY GRANDFATHER’S KNIFE?” Ren spat in Hux’s face.

“Listen,” Hux said, hiding the trouble in his voice. “It was just a remark, if I had known it would…”

But Ren did not care about Hux’s conciliatory tone. He grabbed Hux by the collar. Hux could feel his breath on his face, as if an enraged bull was dominating him. 

“BECAUSE THEY GAVE IT TO  _ HER _ ! SHE’S NOT EVEN FAMILY AND THEY GAVE HER WHAT WAS RIGHTFULLY MINE!”

The hand not holding Hux was pointing at the Girl, who was looking at them with eyes wide open.

“THAT KNIFE SHOULD BELONG TO ME! TO ME!”

“Ben,” said Antilles who he stepped forward with a determined pace, “ if you don’t calm down at once, I will disqualify the whole team.”

“IT’S KYLO, AND…”

With a decided intake of breath, Hux plastered his palm on Ren’s mouth, to mute him. He felt his lips move against his hand, and a tsunami of spit cover it. He rolled his eyes, but eventually Ren stopped yelling. He was just producing muffled gurglings

“He’ll calm down.” He assured Antilles. “I’ve got this.’

He grabbed Ren by the arm, wiping his hand in passing, and pulled him towards an unoccupied corner of the room. He would have prefered to be more discreet, as he knew they were still the targets of the spectator’s gaze, but it was the best he could do for now.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have mentioned your grandfather’s knife. I had no idea the Girl had it, or that it was such a touchy subject for you.”

This was the closest thing to an apology he’d uttered for many years. But he would not say the actual words. He was not the least sorry for what happened, nor guilty. Ren’s mercurial temper were not his to control, nor was his childishness. 

Ren growled, which was an improvement compared to the yelling.

“But we have a trial to win,” Hux carried on.

Ren shrugged.

“We have no other choice,” the General insisted. “If we lose, I have no doubts we’ll all be fired.”

Ren shrugged again and his nonchalance triggered Hux’s tension and made bile rise in his mouth. It was his turn to grab Ren by the collar.

“I understood perfectly that you don’t give a damn about the contest. And I’m pretty sure you’d laugh seeing me work in a fast food restaurant, my family name despoiled for eternity.”

This brought a grin to the corner of Ren’s mouth.

“But for someone who wants to humiliate me, I think you’re giving up a little too easily,” he spat in Ren’s face. 

Their faces were almost touching, but Hux would rather end in a ditch than back off in front of Ren. 

Ren shook Hux off. He was sweating from his previous outburst and Hux wanted to scrub his face enthusiastically with his dish towel. Or a metal scrubber. Now, that was an idea that would soothe his wounded nerves. 

Ren wiped his face with his hands, as if hearing Hux’s thoughts. And then wiped them as best he could on his apron.

“I’m perfectly aware that this fucking contest is all that matter to you,” he answered eventually, still pouting.

At least, he did not sound angry any more. Just somewhat resigned. 

“That’s why,” Hux said, jumping on the rare occurrence of a calmed Ren, “I’m going to make a tremendous sacrifice. Something I have never done before, not for anyone.”

Ren raised an intrigued eyebrow, but kept the face of a frustrated little boy.

“I shall lend you my knives,” Hux announced. “Of course, you ask before taking anything, you don’t damage anything, and you put them back in the exact place, and I really mean exact, from where you took them. But if you are able to follow those simple rules, I will give you access to my knife case. And of course, no more tantrums.”

Ren hesitated, as if sensing a trap somewhere. He knew how precious equipment was to a cook, especially for someone like Hux. 

“You are very eager to be humiliated,” Ren answered after a few seconds of silence. 

“I’m very eager to win.” Hux answered. “And honestly, I’m not scared of you.”

“I know.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Alright,” Kylo said in a low tone, unhappy to depend on Hux, but not having any other choice in order to carry on with the challenge.

Hux was about to present his hand to shake, but then thought about how Ren had drooled on his hand, and wished only for disinfectant gel. There was circumstances in which he would appreciate the exchange of body fluids, but not in a kitchen! There, hygiene had to be the strictest. 

He put his hand on Ren’s shoulder, to guide him back to his table, but Ren shrugged him off at once, to show he was still cross with him. Hux rolled his eyes. Well, let him sulk! As long as he was cooking, Hux did not mind.

He nodded to Antilles, to indicate that all was fine, and looked at the clock. As usual, Ren had lost him precious minutes.

Once his hands were clean, he retrieved his knife, which Ren had abandoned on his table. 

“I’ll keep this one. I’ll give you another, longer and better suited for the duck.”

Ren did not thank him. Hux had been expecting that. 

He bend down and from his knife case he picked the boning knife he usually used for large birds. And Ren’s ducks were massive compared to his tiny quails. 

“This one...” 

He stopped, seeing the Girl standing in front of Ren’s table, red cheeked and a timid smile on her lips. She was holding an ancient knife. It was of a quality hard to find in the Galaxy, and perfectly kept. Its sturdy black handle was shiny and its blade had a bluish glaze, as if projecting its own light. It was an exceptional knife, a kind Hux had not seen since childhood.

“I…” She started obviously very uncomfortable in front of Ren. 

And who would not have been after his last stunt.

“I did not know it was your grandfather’s knife,” she eventually said with a resolute voice. “I’m very sorry to have bothered you so much. But I took great care of it. And I think it will suit your big hands better. Take it!”

Holding the knife flat between her joined hands, she handed it to Ren. But he did not move, watching her with eyes and mouth wide open. Hux had never seen him look so idiotic. He snorted.

“Listen,” the Girl lost patience, “I still have a lot of work. So?”

As in slow motion, Ren nodded, but made no gesture to pick it up.

“Okkkayyyy….” the Girl said. “I’m going to put it here and I will… carry on with my dish. Good luck!”

She delicately laid the knife on the bench, and turned round to skip back to her table.

Hux knew he should go back to his quails, but he was fascinated by the sight of Ren, who was slowly extending a shaking hand towards the knife, as if he was afraid to be burnt by its aura.

When he brushed against it, Hux saw tears accumulating in his eyes. This was too much for him!

“You could at least have thanked her!” he chastised, hoping to bring Ren back into the contest. 

He came out of his trance and turned towards Hux with a confused face.

“B… But… why…” he stumbled through his words.

He inspected the knife again and this time took it in his hand to test its weight. He was breathing heavily, overwhelmed by emotions, judging by his watery eyes and parted lips.

“Why what?” Hux said, annoyed because he could see the clock running.

“Why did she do that?” Ren offered, frowning but still absorbed by the knife.

“I think,” Hux said, “it was an act of kindness”

Ren looked at him with even more bewilderment in his eyes.

“I know,” Hux answered. “The notion escapes me, too.” And then he decided it was time to go back to his quails. After all, now Ren had his own knife.

A few minutes later he barely avoided cutting his quail in half when he heard Ren whisper.

“With the blessing of your knife, I promise, Grandfather, to make the most exceptional duck in the galaxy.

Hux fought not to exhale the most exasperated sigh of the galaxy.

*** 

The next hour seemed incredibly peaceful to Hux. Of course, everyone was running everywhere, the audience shouted when one of the Traitor’s pans caught fire, and Hux himself almost ended up in Dameron’s arms after slipping on a piece of duck skin. But this aside, he managed to prepare his gravy, his vegetables, his stuffing and he had just put his quails in the oven, all this without scolding Ren even once. Even about the duck skin related assassination attempt, which he hoped had not been intentional. 

He looked sideways at Ren’s work station next to him but it was too chaotic for Hux to figure out what he was preparing. He was knocking out a huge amount of work, judging by the mountain of peelings and other junk. Hux could even see empty petits-suisse pots.

“So, we’re starting to worry, hmm?” 

Hux startled and turned around to find himself nose to nose with Ren. Whose smile indicated he was fully aware that Hux was spying on him.

“I’m only concerned about hygiene control…” he replied, embarrassed despite himself about getting caught. “No one ever talked to you about forward plann…?”

Ren stepped away to show that the lesson did not interest him. But he nonetheless bent to pick up a basin under the table and, with a wide sweeping gesture, put all his garbage inside. 

“Happy now?” he asked Hux.

“I should not have to remind you what all assistants know.”

“We’ll see. You’ll be the assistant once I defeat you.”

Hux shook his head with exasperation. In the rather unlikely case where Ren sent out a better dish than his, he would hardly go back to being an assistant! It was just idiotic! Ren was totally idiotic!

He looked for Snoke in the stands. The old chef seemed to finally be paying attention to the contest and was observing the squad of the  _ Petite Résistance _ with attention and what? Worry? What were they doing?

Hux felt a pang of fear. If Ren beat him he would not revert back to assistant. If the Petite Résistance beated him, though… He was familiar enough with Snoke’s sadistic character to know that anything could be expected from him. What if, as retaliation he did not fire Hux but put him under Ren’s orders? This would really be humiliating… After all, and for reasons he could not fathom, Ren had always been Snoke's favourite. Did he know something Hux didn’t?

“See? You’re shaking!” Ren said, once more having insinuated himself behind him.

“Stop that at once!” Hux protested. He still had quite a lot of work to do before he could put out the perfect plate he had in mind, and he had no time to lose. But he’d been sure from the beginning that he would present such a high-class dish that no one could possibly criticize him, and that he would keep his position of chef on the  _ Finalizer _ no matter what! And he certainly wouldn’t let any doubts, as ridiculous as they were unfounded, affect his concentration. Nor Snoke’s attitude. Nor Ren’s breath in his hair.

“Don’t you have a cassoulet to prepare?” Hux bit, letting his elbow touch Ren’s belly as a clear indication he would not hesitate to use it if he did not go back fairly pronto to his table.

“You know perfectly well that’s not what I’m doing. You don’t have the slightest idea what I’m actually doing, though. And that, that’s what’s…”

A cry interrupted them. They both turned their heads towards Phasma. 

“You alright??” Hux pushed Ren away to run to her.

She was very pale and was holding a dishtowel stained with blood.

“It’s nothing,” she reassured them. “I just cut myself.”

“Show me!” Hux ordered, noticing the dishtowel was getting soaked very fast.

“It’s nothing!” She repeated. “Just a scratch.”

“There’s blood everywhere!”

“I’ve had worse!”

“Humm… Phasma?” Ren interrupted. “Your finger is in your fruits.”

Hux turned in slow motion towards the bench, horrified at what Ren had just found. Ren sounded numb and shocked, which wasn’t like him at all.

And indeed, the first thing he saw in the middle of what should have been a carpaccio of red berries, was a finger, its nail perfectly filed.

He felt his knees going weak, despite himself. Chopping pieces of carcasses was one thing, seeing a severed human finger was another. 

“A doctor!” he called, trying to keep his cool, though his head was spinning. “We need a doctor!”

“But I had my dish to finish!” Phasma protested.

“You’re down one finger!” Hux answered with more venom than he’d intended.

“I still have the other nine and…”

“WOW!” Wedge Antilles shouted, having arrived to see what all the fuss was about. “Get a medic! And someone, put this finger in ice!”

At once, Hux reacted, grabbed a clean bowl and ran to the closest freezer. He retrieved the little colorful ice cubes he found there, and came back.

He looked at the finger, still officiating in the middle of sliced strawberries. Frowning his nose, he took a clean dish towel.

“I’ll do it!” Ren shouted, ripping it off his hands. And, very delicately, he picked Phasma’s finger and wrapped it in the fabric before laying it on the ice cubes. 

Hux held back a thank you which burned his lips. Alright, he was very happy not to have had to touch Phasma’s severed finger, but he had the situation under control and had not asked anything to Ren.

“That’s teamwork, boys!” Phasma said enthusiastically behind them.

When Hux turned around, she was smiling despite her paleness, and the redder and redder dish towel pressed against her wound. He thought she must have been high on pain or something.

“You should do that more often,” she added with an exaggerated wink.

Yes, it was surely the endorphins speaking…

Ren awkwardly moved at the periphery of Hux’s vision. 

“Give this to me,” a middle aged woman who Hux had not seen arriving said, almost startling him. She had grabbed the bowl before he could open his mouth.

“We have to hurry if you want to get all your mobility back. Come with me,” she said to Phasma, grabbing her by the arm, “while your finger is still fresh.”

Hux realised that she was the doctor Antilles had called. Just before leaving the room, Phasma turned suddenly, and Hux thought she was about to faint. But no, she had forgotten to say something.

“In the fridge, there are some cubes of foie gras, iced with red berry juice. You need a new strawberry carpaccio, and I already have a chicken-celery jelly on plates, you can put everything else on top of that. And there is cream aromatised with foie gras chilling too, to whip. For the presentation, I was thinking…”

“We really have to go!” The doctor interrupted, attempting to drag her. 

“Go and take care of yourself, don’t worry about your dish, we’ll manage.” Hux ordered. And only then did Phasma consent to follow the doctor’s orders and leave.

A heavy silence fell on the room of the Petite Résistance. The audience seemed fascinated by the trails of blood Phasma left behind. 

“What a woman,” Ren whispered. “If I had severed my finger, I surely would have curled up into a ball, screaming.”

“If you had broken a nail you would have curled up into a ball, screaming.”

Ren shot him his darkest gaze, and Hux shrugged. What happened to Phasma was wretched, but he had no doubt she’d recover fast. As for now, they had a contest to win. 

“Go and finish your dish, rather,” he threw at Ren. “I’ll finish mine and Phasma’s.”

“I can help with Phasma’s.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You still have a lot of work for yours.”

“How would you know?” asked Hux, irritated.

“I noticed the way you got annoyed earlier, when I challenged you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! You always annoy me! You’re almost done, maybe?”

“Of course!”

“Me too!”

“I actually am, though!”

“My dish will turn out better than yours.”

“Mine will be more technical.”

“Mine will taste better.”

“Mine….”

“Gentlemen?” Wedge Antilles interrupted them, waving his hands between their almost touching noses. Automatically, Hux straightened up and crossed his hand at the small of his back.

“Given the circumstances,” Antilles started again, “the jury decided to give you half an hour more.”

Hux felt the corner of his mouth go up. At last, a pleasant piece of news! He was not one to spit on a strategic advantage, whatever the reason. 

“We won’t take it,” Ren then answered.

Hux turned towards him, not believing his ears.

“You’re sure?” Antilles insisted.

“Very sure,” Ren confirmed. “We don’t need it.”

Hux was too dumbstruck to even start to articulate a curse. He raised his hand to attract Antilles’ attention, but his gaze was fixed on Ren, as if he was trying to read him.

“Very well. That’s real fair play on your part.”

After such a comment, Hux did not dare interfere and, a wave of anger rising in him, he watched Antilles go back to the jury’s table, where Skywalker welcomed him with a smile.

“You utter moron!” He spat at Ren. “What came over you? What have you done!”

Ren looked at him scornfully, one raised eyebrow and a mocking smile on his big mouth.

“I did what is called an act of kindness.”

“What? Why?” Hux answered, wondering what this giant idiot had in mind.

“My dish is outstanding. If yours is even half as good as you claim, we’ll win easily. No need to humiliate the others.”

Hux shook his head and started to massage his temples. One way or another, he’d get Ren out of the team for the next trial. Even if he had to stab him with his grandfather's knife and pretend Ren had accidentally impaled himself while slipping on a piece of duck skin. 

He rose his hand when Ren opened his mouth again, and cut him off. “Just hurry up and finish your dish.”

He had no more time to lose in vain, ridiculous chatter. He had boasted earlier while talking to Ren, but he still had a lot of work to do if he wanted his plate to be exactly as he imagined it. Willing himself to kick Ren out of his head, he took his knife back, and continued with his dish.

 

Hux had been known his entire life for his speed and precision. However, never had he prepared a dish this fast. He funneled his Ren-induced frustration into energy and concentration. Even though his whole body was tense, from his clenched jaw all the way to his toenails, his hands never shook. He tooks his quails out of the oven, sure they were roasted to perfection, and presented them as he had imagined from the start. The bird in its golden crust was laid on a nest of vegetables glazed with well-seasoned gravy. It had a vibrant autumn tone and, Hux admitted with no false modesty, it smelled delicious. If Ren managed to beat this, Hux was ready to eat his grandfather’s chef’s hat!

Once his plates were safely under the heating lamp, he went to Phasma’s work station. The assistants of the Petite Résistance had cleaned up all the blood, and only her clean preparation remained.

He decided to start where she had stopped, so he washed a few strawberries and sliced them as thinly as possible.

“Careful with your fingers,” Ren said, arriving next to him.

Hux made a face. This was precisely how someone hurt oneself. 

“You’re done?” he could not stop himself asking, still focused on his strawberries.

“Of course. My plates are next to your brioches.”

“It’s not brioches, it’s quails.”

“Whoops, sorry,” Ren answered with a mocking tone. “The appearance is misleading.”

His last strawberry sliced, Hux looked up and squinted to see what he could see of Ren’s plates from a distance. 

“A smashball? Original. Maybe a bit too tough, the jury is not so young. You know, teeth at their age…”

“Ah ah, very funny” Ren mocked. “When I win and you become my personal assistant it will be my pleasure to…” Hux shut him up with a firm index jammed in his torso.

“If you have nothing better to do then chatting, maybe you could take out what Phasma already prepared.”

Ren bit his lower lip and, with a derogatory snort,went to the fridge. Hux took advantage of the renewed quietness to coat the strawberries with syrup to make them shiny.

The timer indicated there were only 5 minutes left, and he had no idea how to present what they had.

Ren came back with 3 plates containing a jelly - chicken and celery Phasma had said. Original but Hux had no idea how it could taste. Was it balanced or was one of the two flavors taking over? There was no way to know without tasting and there was no way to do that without destroying the presentation. He growled. It was bloody hard to get it right without knowing the main taste! Hux looked under the table for the pan Phasma used, hoping to find some leftover jelly, but she was as tidy as him and all the dirty dishes had been taken away.

In the meantime, Ren had brought back a plate of pinkish foie gras cubes and a mixing bowl with a slightly solid cream.

“That’s all we got,” Ren said. “I’ll take care of the present...”

“I’ll do the presentation,” Hux cut him. There was no way he’d leave something so delicate to this barbarian. This needed finesse.

“You, you whip the cream!” he ordered.

It was an easy and quick task, the only one he could give to Ren. Well, one never knew…

His doubts were confirmed when Ren pulled up his sleeves a bit more, revealing large biceps. Very large biceps, Hux thought while turning towards his own plates as if not interested at all. 

When he saw that Ren was taking a whisk, he rolled his eyes. 

“There are perfectly fine mixers up there,” he said with his best exasperated tone.

“I’m more of an old school guy,” he answered before putting his muscle power to good use. 

Hux had to bite his tongue not to ask if he was also using flints to switch the fire in his oven. Instead,he carefully placed his strawberries like rose petals on the jelly.

But he was constantly distracted by Ren’s growls and his arm shining with sweat, his very rhythmic movements, the smell of the foie gras and the noise of metal on metal.

Hux couldn’t help wondering if Ren was showing off only for the sake of it, or to mock Hux’s tiny arms. Well, not tiny per se, but surely less voluminous than his colleague’s.

Regardless of biceps size, Hux never had any problem whipping cream, whereas Ren seemed to struggle. He had blobs of cream on his face, in the black of his hair and even on his lips. Even if Hux found this perfectly disgusting, his eyes kept going back to it.

To hide his turmoil, Hux grabbed a cube of foie gras to taste it. Not bad! But… An idea struck him suddenly. He looked at the timer. Three minutes. Doable but he’d need to get the best out of himself. At last he managed to push Ren to the back of his mind. The plate of foie gras in a hand and a pan in the other, he ran to the closest cooktop and switch it to maximum.

“What are you fucking doing!” Ren shouted. “We don’t have time!”

Hux regretted that raising his middle finger would be inappropriate in front of so many witnesses. But the best way to cock a snook at Ren was to succeed. He was going to caramelise the crust of fruity juice covering the cubes of foie gras. If he managed, it would bring a nice crunchy tone to the plate, but also a nice contrast between the hot cubes and the freshness of the strawberries.

He threw the cubes in the hot pan, praying for Phasma to have used a good quality product and enough sugar in the icing. When he started to smell the sweetness, he knew it was a win. Well, only if he did not burn it… With the timer ticking, so close to the end, he couldn’t afford to lower the fire so he had to be extra careful.

Trusting his instincts, he swirled the cubes once more before cutting the fire and unloading the cubes in a plate covered with paper to stop the caramelization.

He observed the result. It was perfect. 

He ran back to Phasma’s workbench. 

“One minute left!” Antilles warned them.

Hux felt his heartbeat speed up, and his blood roaring at his eardrums. Now or never!

With a tiny spatula, he picked the first cube of caramelized foie gras. He realize then that he could still hear Ren fighting his whipped cream like a demon.

“What are you fucking doing!” he yelled at him. There was no way for him to lose because this moron had wanted to parade with his big muscles!

“IT’S NOT FUCKING RISING!” Ren shouted back.

“WELL OF COURSE IT’S NOT RISING, YOU’RE DOING IT THE WRONG WAY!”

He could feel his anguish rising with each passing second.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL WHIPPING CREAM?” He added, aware that he had at last lost his telltale composure but not able to stop. “I’LL SHOW YOU HOW TO WHIP! I’M THE WHIPPING KING!”

Ren stopped suddenly, watching him with big round eyes. Hux did not know if the redness of his cheeks were due to his effort or to his last words. He knew he was scarlet too. He usually worked well under pressure but this time, his tongue had cut all link with his brain.

He grabbed the mixing bowl from Ren’s hands and whipped it as if his life depended on it. A regular movement was essential, something Ren seemed to have ignored in favour of brute strength. The cream had thickened but it wasn’t firm enough and Hux knew he could get it there with a few more seconds.

“Put the cubes in the plates,” he barked to Ren who was still watching him. “And make it nice!”

For once, Ren obeyed straight away, without quibbling. 

“Yes,” sighed Hux when he saw the cream starting to rise into peaks. He grabbed two tablespoons to form quenelles.

“Five… four…” Antilles started.

Hux practically threw the quenelles of cream onto the plates. What he could have achieved with half an hour more, he thought bitterly. He even considered throwing one at Ren’s face, just for fun, but Ren was disgusting enough as he was, all covered in spots of foie gras. Hux had no idea how there had been anything left in the bowl considering the amount Ren was covered with.

“Zero!”

Like all other candidates he raised his arms. It was finally over. He put his spoons back, exhaled deeply and passed his hands on his face. He was sweaty – he could even feel his jacket sticking to his back, something that had not happened since teenagehood, when his father was standing over him and watching his every gesture. He was pretty sure he had a loose strand of hair tickling his forehead. With a grimace, he tried to arrange his hair.

“Yeeess, your hair is perfect,” Ren commented sarcastically.

“Maybe you should mind your own hair. You’re disgusting.”

Ren’s offended look morphed into an aggrieved pout when he noticed the veritable Milky Way of foie gras-aromatized not-whipped cream on his chest.

He grabbed a dish towel to try to tidy himself and rather successfully managed to spread it all over his jacket.

“Don’t forget your face,” Hux advised, with a mocking smile on his lips.

Ren rubbed his face with another dish towel.

“And your hair,” Hux insisted.

Ren wiped the towel over his hair, not without muttering. 

“Better?” he eventually asked.

Hux frowned. Though Ren had managed to more or less clean his face, his hair was still rather manky and a few bits of foie gras still stuck to it.

“Let me do it. Give me the towel.”

Ren did as asked. Fundamentally, Hux did not care that Ren was dirty, but out of respect for the jury, a minimum standard had to be met.

One by one, he cleaned Ren’s black strands. They were so close he could hear and feel him breathe. Ren smelled of sweat but Hux didn’t care. He was also radiating heat, his body temperature matching his temper.

“Almost done,” he announced, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He was nonetheless trying not to look at Ren’s face. This stupid and crooked face and so…

Ren suddenly grabbed his hand, interrupting the cleaning process, and  all Hux could do was to swallow loudly. Even getting his hand back seemed impossible. Those large fingers on his had short circuited all thoughts.

“We will start with the  _ Finalizer _ ’s team,” Wedge Antilles announced, efficiently bringing Hux back to reality.

“Thank you,” Ren muttered.

“You could not have presented yourself to the jury in such a state,” Hux answered coldly. His face was pinched, but his heart was still beating wildly. “The honor of the  _ Finalizer  _ was at stake.  Let's go.”

Without even checking that Ren was following, he went toward the jury, his back as straight as possible and his chin up. He suddenly felt exhausted but was certainly not going to show it.

As for the first trial, Ren stood at his left, but it was slightly unsettling not to have Phasma at his right.

“Before we start,” Antilles said, “I want to congratulate you for finishing 3 dishes with a severed team.”

Calrissian giggled. Antilles threw him a very judgemental glare.

“Of course,” he explained, “it’s an unfortunate choice of words. I received news from your colleague. The surgery is going well and she should be able to use her finger again in a few weeks.”

“This is excellent news, thank you.” Hux answered. He had never doubted Phasma, but although he was relieved to know for sure, he was more impatient to go forward with tasting. His dish had been waiting for long enough.

“We will now taste the first plate,” Antilles kept going.

Hux could feel his fingernails digging into the skin of his palms. Thank god there was no one to see behind his back, except the audience but the audience did not matter.

“It’s Ben Solo’s dish.”

Ren growled. Everybody ignored him.

“There must be a mistake because my form indicates  _ “Dick in reverse, in my style” _ Hux could not retain the murderous glare he send Ren. Ren who had a satisfied smile.

“It’s duck, obviously,” he answered to the jury. 

The assistants put the plates down and uncovered it, revealing something that looked a bit like a meatloaf.

It was a simple presentation and most of all, the absence of garnish puzzled Hux, especially considering the amount of junk Ren generated.

The juzy seemed as puzzled.

“How exactly is it supposed to be in reverse?” Asked Calrissian while studying the plate from every angles.

“The crust was made with the giblets from the ducks,” Ren answered. The flesh is inside. To understand the dish, you need to pour the sauce on top of it.” Indeed the assistants were bringing little jugs.

Hux looked at the ceiling. He had used the sauce trick the step before… Ren was so imaginative less, he was disappointed.

“Let’s try!” Calrissian said, full of enthusiasm as he poured the sauce.

As soon as the hot sauce dripped on the crust, it opened in two with a loud snapping noise. Slowly, the two halves pulled apart, revealing the inside, where a delicate duck breast was presented, with a garlicky potato cannelloni raised up like a tower. There was also a salad on the side, crowned by a thin white biscuit that bent back on itself and rested on top of the meat. And on top of all that, the smell was delicious.

Hux knew his mouth was open but he had no idea how to close it. He had never seen a moving presentation and had no idea how Ren had done this tour de force. It was as if an invisible force had moved the elements to place them on the plate.

He knew that next to him Ren was puffing his chest like a rooster, and throwing him mocking glances, but he was too flabbergasted to even think about a response.

“Impressive,” Calrissian commented.

“Very nice technique,” Skywalker added.

“Nice,” Palpatine concluded. His weak voice was audible in the silence Ren’s dishes had brought.

“Well, I want to taste it!” Calrissian was enthusiastic.

The rest of the jury followed. For long seconds, Hux watched them cut, smell, swallow and start again and again. It gave him time to compose himself. Ren’s prowess had given him a bad hit and he did not see how he could win. His dish was perfect but would seem bland next to Ren’s moving meal. He hated it but he had to admit, inwardly of course, that it was a bit more high class than a cassoulet with squid ink. Ren had blown him away.

On the other hand, it was a good thing because their victory was now almost certain. But for his dish to beat Ren’s, he had to hope that Ren had screwed up his seasoning or something as trivial as that. Maybe he had put all his time on the presentation and neglected the cooking itself.

“It’s good,” Calrissian commented, ruining Hux’s last hopes.

“Hmm,” Palpatine approved.

Skywalker took a little longer to give his opinion. 

“The potato is perfectly tender, but the garlic taste is a bit too present, but I guess this is more a matter of personal taste. In my opinion, the duck is also a bit overcooked. What are the other jury’s opinion?”

“If one want to be picky,” Calrissian admitted, “the duck could have been a little less well done.”

“It’s good,” was all Palpatine said.

“Yes, of course,” Skywalker agreed. “It’s very good but with such a visual effect I would expect a bit more precision on the basic cooking. It’s was almost perfect, it's a shame. It is still a plate of very high quality, I really like the crunchy and slightly sour biscuit even if I cannot say what it’s made of. Ben, can you tell us?”

“It’s made with  _ petit suisse _ ,” Ren answered, not managing to hide the anger in his voice. 

It was obvious for Hux that Ren had expected the jury to faint at his prowess and had a hard time accepting criticism. He did not know any more whether he should laugh at him, or pat his shoulder. This hesitation was in itself worrying. Yes, his own dish had taken a step closer to victory, and it was always nice to see Ren take a lesson in humility, but he had worked so hard on this plate! Hux hadn’t the slightest idea how he had managed such a presentation. It was probably something due to the interaction with the hot sauce, but even with this, Hux had to confess his cluelessness.

“Well, it’s a beautiful dish by Ben Solo,” said Antilles, to close the discussion. “Next, please!”

Hux straightened as much as his spinal column would allow. It was all up to him.

The assistants laid the plates in front of the judges. Hux was relieved to see that his presentation had not lost his shiny colours, and hoped the savours had been as preserved during the waiting time.

“What is it?” Calrissian asked, while rubbing his hands gleefully.

“Stuffed Quail-Lorraines,” Hux stated with his most implacable voice. “In my style,” he could not resist adding.

He could see Ren’s head turning sharply towards him and felt the heat of his dark gaze on him. The negative waves emanating from the tall cook were so powerful that they might manage to mess up Hux’s hair. He suppressed a smirk but Calrissian giggled.

“What about these quails makes them in the Lorraine regional style?” Skywalker asked, harboring an amused smile for the first time.

“I flamed them with mirabelle plum liquor, and they are wrapped in a coating of madeleine crumbs.”

Skywalker nodded approvingly. “It sounds very tasty.”

“What are they stuffed with?” Calrissian then asked.

“With carrot juice,” Hux detailed. “With dried fruits and seasonal Naboo mushrooms.”

“Ah.. Naboo…” Palpatine croaked.

Hux made an internal fist pump. He had chosen the mushrooms precisely to tempt the old emperor of gastronomy and it seemed to be paying off.

More certain than ever of his victory, Hux watched them cut the quails,the orange juice pouring elegantly in the deep plates. Alright, it was not as visual as Ren’s dish, but it was rather effective all the same. When they tasted, the jury was unanimous.

“It’s clever and well executed,” Skywalker analysed. “The cooking is perfect, the tastes are harmonious. The quail is nicely in the spotlight, perfectly complemented with the stuffing, vegetables, and gravy. This dish is up to the  _ Finalizer’s _ reputation.”

“I approved the stuffed quail lorraine,” Calrissian added with a thumb up.

“Naboooo,” Palpatine said between two forkfuls of stuffing.

“Well done, Chef Hux,” Antilles concluded. “We will now move on, to the last dish, the one made by all three chefs.”

“A six-hands dish, that’s original,” commented Skywalker.

“With 29 fingers,” Calrissian added with another giggle.

Hux had the distinct feeling that Antilles was about to throw his note cards at Lando. Instead, he put on his most neutral expression.

“Could you explain the dish, Chef Hux?”

Hux explained the various elements of the plate, still uncertain about Phasma’s original idea.

“It’s good,” Skywalker said. “But the celery and chicken jelly is too salty and it takes over a lot on the other elements.”

“Yes, but the cubes of foie-gras are extra delicious,” Calrissian commented while gulping then one after the other, like finger food.

“It’s obvious,” Skywalker kept going in a more professional way,” that it’s a partially unfinished dish. There are good ideas, but no coherency – which is perfectly explained by the circumstances. It is still of very good quality, and I want to congratulate you for achieving this in such a short time.”

Hux saluted them courteously when the tasting was over but he could feel Ren immobile next to him. This idiot had no idea when to lay low.

Hux grabbed his arm to pull him back to their work benches before he opened once more his big mouth. Once out of the judges hear sight, Ren turned towards him.

“Did you hear him?! Did you hear him? My duck was overcooked! Of course my duck was cooked to perfection!

Hux shrugged and leaned on the table to follow the Petite Resistance’s performance. He had not tasted the duck, hence he had no opinion on the subject. For his dish, Skywalker’s comments were very accurate. 

“He downgrades me because he hates me. My dish was perfect,” Ren growled in his back.

“Or,” Hux suggested without looking at him,  “your duck was overcooked and you’d better listen to advice and remember next time you make this dish.”

”I will NEVER make this dish again,” Ren kept ranting. “It’s too humiliating,” he added, theatrically covering his face with a large hand and throwing himself next to Hux.

Hux sighed.

‘“It’s a shame. The presentation was amazing.”

Ren’s fingers spreaded to show an eye staring at Hux.

“Really? You were impressed? You?”

Stubbornly refusing to look at Ren, Hux nodded.

“I have to admit I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ren got dangerously close once again. His big head blocked half of Hux’s vision.

“So you admit that you lost?”

“I do not and I did not. My dish was better.”

“My dish was better,” Ren mumbled. “It’s Skywalker who’s pissed at me because I burned his restaurant.”

At that, Hux could not help but turn around.

“You really did it?”

Ren had a dark smile.

“You doubted it?”

“I would have said that not even you could be so petty…”

But Hux knew his face expressed the same kind of jubilation as Ren’s. There was something utterly satisfying at imagining Ren bringing chaos and destruction in Skywalker’s world of love, flowers and beetroots.

“Now, hush, I’m trying to follow,” he said taking back control of his face.

Strangely, Ren obeyed but stayed next to Hux, shoulder to shoulder. Hux rolled his eyes. Because of Ren, he had missed the tasting of the Girl’s dish, and she was their most serious threat. It was now the Traitor’s turn to present his dish.

“It’s not bad, Skywalker said. “But it misses something, like texture and liaison.”

“I made coriander ice cubes that I wanted to crush and add at the last moment but they were used for Chef Phasma’s finger…” the Traitor answered piteously.

Hux managed not to snigger.

That’s well deserved, he thought _ ,  _ that’s what you got for abandoning the _ Finalizer _ !

He could feel Ren’s amusement next to him.

“Well done with the ice cubes,” he whispered in his ear.

The jury was far more tolerant with the Traitor than Hux would have been. Then it was Poe’s turn, and, strangely, he did not convince the judges. Sweet and salty was not a thing for the Galaxy’s best pastry chef. Hux was tightening his fist… Victory was so close!

After a few minutes of deliberation, the five of them were called before the jury. The audience was silent, waiting impatiently for the verdict. Hux was tempted to look for Snoke, but his gaze fell on Han Solo and Leia Organa. He was smiling nonchalantly but her expression was blank. She must have realized her team was about to lose.

Strangely enough, Ren had managed to ignore his parents during the trial. With a few hours of delay, Hux could see the benefit of shaking him. Ren’s anger towards Hux had eclipsed his original reasons for being in turmoil. It was a good trick to keep in mind – focus Ren’s energy towards him, and thus make him competitive. The risk was a fist in his face or a wrung neck, but some things were worth such sacrifice.

Once more, Hux could not help observing Ren. His face was an open book. His eyes were shifty, and he was nibbling at his lower lip like a nervous little boy facing his teachers. He did not seem the slightest bit sure of beating Hux. 

Hux raised his head and waited calmly for the jury's verdict. He knew they would win.

“Miss, gentlemen, the jury has reached an agreement,” Antilles announced with his little note card in hand. “Members of the jury, we will hear you now…”

Lando Calrissian stepped forward.

“In third place, we have Rey’s dish, the crusty capon cooked three ways. Congratulations Rey, you bring one point to your team.”

“Thank you.” Rey answered enthusiastically, waving the cheering audience.

Hux sneered. He could never understand people who could be satisfied with anything else than winning. He would have been mortified to be ranked third.

“For second place,” Calrissian continued, “we chose Benny’s dish, the duck in reverse, and his amazing presentation. Well done Benny.”

Hux turned towards Ren, the beginning of a smirk on his lips. He had won. His smile fell off when he saw Ren’s furious face. As from far away, he heard Antilles voice.

“We have now equality, the best will be…

“SORRY?” Ren interrupted him and Hux wondered whether he should step in before things turned really ugly.

“Is there a problem?” Antilles enquired.

“You gave me second place!” Ren spat, leaning over the table to dominate the judges with his dark imposing figure.

“The presentation was breathtaking but there were technical mistakes,” Calrissian explained.

“NO!” Ren shouted. “NO! IT WAS PERFECT! PERFECT! NONE OF YOU CAN DO WHAT I DID! NOT ONE OF YOU!”

“Ren!” Hux stepped in to try and stop this new crisis.

But Ren ignored him and Hux wasn’t sure he’d even heard him through the haze of his rage. He pointed a vengeful finger towards Skywalker, who didn’t even flinch. Calrissian pressed his hands on the table to prevent any attempt at overthrowing it this time.

“YOU! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DOWNGRADED ME! BECAUSE I’M BETTER THAN YOU! BECAUSE I HAVE MORE TECHNIQUES THAN YOU’LL EVER HAVE! I’M GOING TO…”

“REN!” Hux raised his voice and laid a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

Ren turned towards him like a snake and Hux thought his last day had come. Ren’s eyes were burning with rage. He stared at Hux silently, heaving like a big beast. Then he spat on the floor at the judge's’ feet and, bumping into Hux on his way, exited the room and banged the door.

It was the second time in two trials that Ren had made a scene at the verdict. If he carried on like this, he’d get them disqualified.

“I apologize on behalf of my team for… “ he started before Skywalker raised his hand to have him stop.

“You don’t have to apologize for his behaviour. Everyone here has tried at some point to manage him, but no one has succeeded. I congratulate you for your patience, though.”

Hux lowered his head. He did not appreciate Skywalker’s comment very much. Obviously he was glad not to have to carry the responsibility of Ren’s actions, but he also thought about what Ren had told him in the shuttle. How he had felt smothered by his family – that was certainly from their attempts at managing him. But it wasn’t his business to comment.

“Can we carry on? Antilles asked.

After the judges’ approval, Calrissian resumed. 

“For the best dish, we chose the stuffed quail lorraine from Chef Hux. Congratulations Chef, your point qualifies your team for the next step.”

“Thank you,” he answered the jury with a barely there smile on his lips, and under the audience’s applause.

Outwardly, Hux expressed a modest triumph, but inwardly he was celebrating wildly. He had proved he was the best in the room!

When he turned left, Ren was not there, and on his right no Phasma either. His enthusiasm fell down a notch. He was satisfied to have won, but he had not more team members and he ended up alone to savour his victory. 

Hux had always been a lone soul, and he found himself surprised by the pinch of bitterness he felt at not having his teammates next to him. That was unlike him.

He looked for Snoke. He had brilliantly proved again that the old man had been right in giving him the management of the  _ Finalizer _ . The old chef was nowhere to be seen, and Hux’s unpleasant feeling expanded.

“Congratulations, Chef!” Poe Dameron’s hand landed on his shoulder. Hux managed not to step back.

“It was a beautiful dish,” the pastry chef kept going.

“Really pretty and super yummy,” the Girl added.

The Traitor had stayed behind and was watching him with a stern gaze. Maybe he was pissed about the ice cubes but Hux did not care. It wouldn’t have changed anything.

“Thank you,” he answered politely before untangling himself from Dameron. The pastry chef was shockingly tactile.

“I look forward to the next trial, “ the Girl said with a smile. “And next time, I’ll beat you! That’s my goal!”

After a short hesitation between condescension and silence, Hux chose the later. Anyways, he had nothing to fear about her. She was talented but he was much more so and he had much more experience.

Wedge Antilles materialized between then, clearing his throat loudly to attract their attention. 

“Can I please conclude the trial?”

The spectators who had started to stand up to leave the room stopped and Hux wondered what was coming next.

“Just to remind you, the teams are now at one point each. Our last and decisive challenge will occur next week in a neutral place. You will get the necessary information in due course. Thank you, and have a nice evening.”

With this hasty conclusion, he went back to the judges’ table to help them put Palpatine back on his feet. While the room was slowly emptying, Hux went to his workbench and gathered his tools. He spotted Ren’s knife case, open under his bench, and his grandfather’s knife next to the cutting board.

He sighed. He could not leave this here. It was a priceless object. So he also gathered Ren’s things and could not help tidying them before slipping the blueish blade into the case. He’d give it back to Ren tomorrow, once he’d slept off his anger. Just as he had closed the locks, an unknown voice rose up to his right.

“Chef… Hux?”

Hux turned and was surprised to find Han Solo a few feet away. The man seemed hesitant.

“Yes?” Hux asked, puzzled and curious.

“I just wanted to thank you for taking care of Ben.”

Hux almost choked with his own saliva. Taking care of Ben? He hadn’t taken care of Ben! He’d had him thrown into his lap and he was simply trying to do his best in the circumstances!

“Ben has always been a lonely boy,” Solo kept going. “And I observed you two during the trial. You seem to get along well.” 

There was no way on the galaxy for Hux not to snort at this. This was the stupidest thing he ever heard in all his life. And he had a very low threshold for stupidity.

“You managed to bring him back here so he could take part in the trial,” Solo explained. “And you calmed him after his meltdown about Vader's knife. You don't understand how incredible this seems for me! You helped him when he was having trouble with his whipped cream, too, and now you’re gathering all his things he left behind. You’re a good friend and I’m glad to know he’s got you by his side.”

The onslaught of abject mushiness and blatant misinterpretation was too much for Hux, who shook his head. “I am  _ not _ his friend. I’m doing damage control to avoid us being disqualified by the child you were incapable of bringing up!”

To his surprise, Han Solo smiled. A rather knowing smile. 

“Well, yes of course,” he answered. “If this is what you want to believe you can fool yourself, but you won’t fool me. You won't fool me,” he repeated while stepping away, a rather smug, jeering look on his face.

Hux watched him disappear in the flow of spectators.

“What a bunch of weirdos in this family,” Hux growled before taking a knife case in each hand. He was too hot suddenly and Solo’s words had disturbed him. He hurried out before someone else had the idea of talking to him.

***

The hot shower was not his idea of a true victory celebration but it helped to make him feel better. He intended to investigate the kitchen and find something to eat. They had one more night to spend on D’Qar before going back to the  _ Finalizer  _ and he was starting to be really hungry. Maybe there was something planned for dinner but he had zero intention to call Dameron to know about it. He’d much rather sort it out for himself.

He was putting his shirt on when he heard someone walking on the wet floor of the bathroom.

“Hello, sexy!” Phasma said.

He rolled his eyes.

“Don’t you have piano lessons to take?” He asked.

She raised her heavily bandaged hand.

“Give me a few days and I’ll play a concerto.”

“Days?”

“Alright, weeks,” she admitted. “But the surgery went well and I shouldn’t have any after effects.”

“That’s great,” he said, happy to see her in such a good mood and form. 

“I found out you didn’t even manage to get my plate in the first three.”

“Who told you that?”

“Skywalker. I met him outside the medical bay and he told me the whole story. He’s very nice once you get to know him”

Hux frowned. 

“He’s old enough to be your father!”

“But he  _ is _ very classy. You can't deny it!”

Hux shrugged. He didn’t think much about Skywalker as long as he voted for him…

“Anyway… Congratulations are in order, I guess!”

“Thank you.” Hux answered.

“Thank  _ you _ for getting us to the next step.”

“It wasn’t just me. Ren’s plate got second.”

“Oh, yes his, erm…  _ ‘dick in reverse’ _ ”

Hux giggled. “He thought he was being funny with that one…” He sat on a chair to put on his socks and Phasma settled down next to him.

“Well I’m not sure you're the best placed to mock him…” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. 

“How so?”

“One day we should discuss your… anal obsession for him.”

“I have no  _ anal obsession _ for him!” he protested, his socks forgotten in his hand.

It was Phasma’s turn to giggle.

“Oh come  _ on _ ! Bouchées à la  _ Ren _ where you need to pour white sauce into a hole! The  _ stuffed quail-lorraine _ ! Seriously? And you mock other people’s lack of subtlety?”

Hux looked away. His cheeks and ears were on fire and he had no idea what to say to defend himself.

“And if I were you,” she kept going, “his butt would not be the part I’d focus on. It’s not the most interesting part of him…”

“What?”he growled, hoping for this endless and embarrassing conversation to be over.

“Oh, don’t tell me you never thought about it. Big ears, big nose, big hands, big feet, big…”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” he interrupted. He wouldn’t say he never thought about it because it would be a big lie. He did think about it. Often. Very often. Every time he saw Ren in the changing room, in fact. And a part of himself was very curious about the subject. But he was not about to admit it either. 

“You're being ridiculous,” he eventually muttered. And he finally put on his socks, trying to deflect her mocking smirk. She waited for him to be done with his feet before attacking again, enveloping his shoulder with her long arms.

“You really have to take action. Attack the problem. It’s affecting you – you’re less cutting than before, your concentration is down.”

This also, he could not deny. Whatever he did, Ren always managed to sneak into his thoughts. 

“It doesn’t stop me from winning,” he bit back, standing up to escape her embrace. 

“Maybe, but…”

“I’m going to raid the kitchen, want something to eat?” He changed the subject to let her know he wasn’t going to carry on with the conversation.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m starving,” she answered and followed him towards the kitchen. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

No matter how Hux tossed and turned in his bed, sleep refused to come. He had had a trying and emotional day, followed by a nice dinner with Phasma, sitting in the corner of the kitchen like they did back when he was a kitchen assistant. The bed in his room at the  _ Petite Resistance _ was pretty comfortable. But, nothing doing – he just couldn’t manage to sleep.

So many thoughts were going around his head. His conversation with Han Solo. His conversation with Phasma. All his interactions with Ren. The smell of Ren’s skin when he’d rinsed his hair. The moment when Ren grabbed his hand and he forgot how to speak.

He  _ was _ physically attracted to the man – he already knew that, and it would’ve been stupid to deny it. But did they really give the impression of being close? Han Solo had thought that he and his son were friends. It was stupid. There was nothing friendly between them. And yet… Hux did appreciate their constant bickering and little digs at each other. They shared the same cynical sense of humour and Hux had felt reassured after their big argument when Ren had kept on responding to his little teases. He had even been fine with mentions of the fire at Skywalker’s restaurant, and they’d smiled together at the Traitor’s ill fortune.

He shivered, thinking of Ren whispering in his ear. The taller chef always had this aggressive way of invading his personal space, but Hux never knew if it was on purpose or not. He just knew that when  _ Dameron _ got too close, it was annoying. When it was Ren… it was annoying, too, but in a different way. He couldn’t quite explain it. It was an  _ exciting _ sort of annoying, he thought, for want of a better word.

Before Ren’s arrival, his life on the  _ Finalizer _ had been far simpler. He put together the menus, managed the teams, created dishes according to the seasons and the regions visited by the restaurant-ship, and gave orders that everyone else followed perfectly. Things were neat and tidy and organised and terribly predictable.

Ren had come into Hux’s life like a tornado. He’d thrown all his plans and work into the air. Hux had to spend more time in the kitchen just to manage the fallout from Ren’s erratic behaviour. And he got angry very often, more times than he could count. That was new to him, because since he was very young he’d always worked on controlling his emotions. Ren had this incredible talent for upsetting not only Hux’s environment but his emotional barriers, and Hux felt as if from then on there was just this… extra energy in his life.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Phasma was right, he’d have to do something because he really was losing control of the situation. No matter what he did, Ren was on his mind and it was going to show in his work. And that would never do.

But he didn’t know if Ren was interested in anything, even a one night stand just to get rid of the tension between them. Did he even feel the same tension, or was it just the fruit of Hux’s imagination, spurred on by his hormones?

After all, Ren hadn’t reacted well when Hux put his thigh between his a few days earlier in the changing room. Even though it wasn’t what Hux had in mind at that time, Ren running off could be read either way.

But he hadn’t recoiled when Hux washed his hair. And the hand that had grabbed his… and the way they ended up face to face whenever they raised their voices at each other.

Hux buried his head in his pillow. He didn’t know what to think any more, nor how to take the situation. And he didn’t see himself confronting Ren for a frank discussion. It’d be humiliating. The General did  _ not _ discuss his own wants and needs. And also, he  _ still _ didn’t know which way Ren’s sexual orientation went. He’d never known him to have any intimate company on the  _ Finalizer _ . And he really didn’t want to sow trouble in the team before the third leg of the competition. After Phasma’s injury, things were already complicated enough. He would just have to leave it a few days.

In any case it was hardly as if he was going to knock on Ren’s door right then in the middle of the night. He didn’t have a good excuse. Except for returning his knife case. Or getting back his comb. Well, okay, he actually had a whole bunch of excuses for knocking on Ren’s door. But then? He’d give him back his knife case or he’d get his comb back and that would be that. It wasn’t as if Ren would invite him in or if Hux was going to go over there naked under a dressing gown that he’d drop at the right moment. He laughed. No, that was grotesque. And Ren would close the door in his face.

And, Ren was sulking in his room. He hadn’t even come out to take a shower and he must still stink of sweat and foie gras.

This idea bothered Hux a lot more than he’d like to admit. Ren’s smell had stayed in his nostrils for a long time after the test, and even now he thought he could pick it out, floating in the air. It was stupid. He closed his eyes.

He thought again about how he’d felt Ren’s breath in his hair when he stood too close, how his body always gave off heat, the size of his fingers when he grabbed his arm in the course of one of their rows.

He groaned. He was ridiculous.

He slipped a hand into his grey pyjama trousers. It wasn’t the first time he’d masturbated while thinking of Ren. It was actually something that had been happening more and more often. And it was getting less satisfying each time, He knew he needed something more real. But for now, this was what he had – consequence-free, meaningless and much easier.

He bit his lips to stop himself crying out when he imagined Ren’s teeth nibbling on his earlobe.

 

***

 

The next day, Hux was alone in front of the shuttle’s hatch as the sun rose over the roof of the  _ Petite Resistance _ . His eyebrows knitted, he looked around for his colleagues. He hadn’t run into anyone since he got up. No Ren in the bathroom, no Phasma at breakfast. In fact, he’d had to tolerate Poe Dameron by himself. Poe had once again prepared everything for breakfast, all the time going on about how  _ brilliant _ the challenge had been and how he couldn’t  _ wait _ for the next leg of the competition, and a whole heap of other nonsense that Hux gave up following along with, nodding his head from time to time so as not to seem rude.  

He checked the time. They had been supposed to leave five minutes ago. The pilots had started the engines. He got his comlink out of his pocket. Just as he was about to call Phasma, he spotted her blonde head passing behind another ship. She was carrying her case in her good hand, the other one held across her body to avoid knocking it against any of the other ships in the parking lot.

She gave him a weak smile when she saw him waiting beside the shuttle. “Sorry,” she said as she approached, “I had an awful night. My painkillers stopped working at about two and I had to take a horse-sized dose to get any sleep. Then, I couldn’t get up when the alarm went.”

That was an excuse Hux could understand. Ren, on the other hand…

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You aren’t the last, anyway.”

Last night he had stopped himself from knocking on Ren’s door. But just like every time after he’d touched himself while thinking of Ren, he didn’t want to see him, as though he was worried that as soon as Ren saw him he’d know just what he’d been doing. It was stupid, especially as Hux was a master at controlling his facial expressions. But it didn’t stop him feeling uneasy. And, without his comb, he’d had to do his hair with his fingers, and even if the result was more or less alright, to the trained eye it was not perfect.

Not seeing any other option, he called Ren, thinking he probably wouldn’t answer anyway. So when a familiar deep voice did answer, his eyes widened.

“What?” growled Ren in his usual friendly tone.

“It’s time to go,” Hux answered in a similar voice. “We’re waiting for you.”

Although Ren was in a bad mood, at least he was awake. That was some small satisfaction.

“I can’t go. Someone’s stolen my knife case. When I find who did it I’ll…”

Hux sighed. This was obviously what had got into Ren’s head after Vader’s knife had been returned. Hux could perfectly imagine him, stalking the underground corridors of the _Petite_ _Resistance_ with his great animal strides, looking for the Girl to find out if it was all some sort of bad joke on her part.

“Nobody’s stolen your knife case,” he answered. “I’ve got it.”

“ _ You _ stole my knife case!”

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a very long day. “I didn’t steal your knife case,” he explained in a voice usually reserved for slightly slow commis chefs. “You left it in the hall after your crisis, so I took it just so nobody else would steal it.”

“Ah,” Ren said, before putting the phone down on him.

Hux shook his head and put his comlink away. They should have left last night. He would have slept on the journey, saving his brain the incredible amount of nonsense that he had to hear every time he spent too much time with Ren.

Ren appeared a little later, crossing the parking lot with his head down and his hair blowing in the wind – but freshly washed. At least this morning, Hux was sure Ren hadn’t used his comb.

“All good?” Hux asked as Ren stopped in front of him. “Did you kiss your parents goodbye? Can we go, then?”

Ren wagged his finger at Hux and then picked up his knife case. Hux thought he might have heard a thank you, but so quiet that it might as well have been his imagination.

At last they could leave.

Once in the shuttle, Phasma stretched out on one of the bench seats. Her painkillers seemed to really make her drowsy, and she soon fell asleep with her head on her bag.

Making a change from the trip there, Ren sat next to Hux and not at the other end of the second bench seat, as if he wanted some kind of contact or discussion. Hux didn’t know what to make of it. In his doubt, he kept his mouth shut, leaving it to Ren to start anything. It was total silence for the takeoff and while they left atmo. A good ten minutes into hyperspace, Hux stopped waiting. He must have been wrong: Ren didn’t have anything to say to him after all. He got out his datapad.

He had just started an article about the gastronomic practices of Takodana, when Ren cleared his throat. Hux wondered if he was going to speak or spit like he’d done in front of the jury the previous day.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, eyes on his hands which he had crossed between his legs.

“What?” said Hux with a little grin. “Did I hear you properly?”

“Yes!” Ren said, blushing.

Hux had always been fascinated by how Ren was incapable of controlling his face – raw emotions passed over his features one after the other. Hux never knew how to read them, but they were there.

“So why, then?” he said. “For not having thrown you out of the team after your unforgivable behaviour yesterday, or for not having left you with your family despite you being late?”

“For the knife case,” Ren explained without looking at him. “I was so angry that I forgot everything and that bothered me all night. I would have been sick… for the knife…”

He took large pauses, seeming to have difficulty finding his words. It probably wasn’t the sort of conversation he was used to having. In fact, Ren didn’t chat very much, thinking about it. These last few days with Hux had been the exception.

“It’s good you’ve got it back,” Hux said. “It’s a very nice object. The sort of thing that could push you to be an even better chef.”

Ren shifted, putting his back against the metal wall of the shuttle.

“Yet, despite the knife, you beat me yesterday.”  

Hux sniffed. Was Ren trying to get him to compliment him on his presentation again?

“You said it yourself,” he said, “I didn’t taste your dish. Maybe you  _ were _ unlucky.”

“Perhaps. Anyway, I’ll beat you next time!”

“You do know we’re on the same team?”

Ren smiled but didn’t say anything.

“Actually,” Hux continued, “Your father came to talk to me yesterday.”

He hadn’t really been intending to bring this up with Ren, but he didn’t see any reason to carry on hiding it. And the journey was long and it would at least be a topic of discussion.

Ren turned towards him, his eyes wide open and his lips pursed.

“What did he want?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Nothing of any interest. Just thanked me for looking after you.”

“Looking after me?” Ren repeated, pulling a face. “That’s ridiculous!”

“You know, calming you down when you have a crisis, that sort of thing. I think that’s what he meant.”

Ren groaned. “Yep,” he said, dipping his head to hide his face behind a curtain of hair. “Thanks for that, too.”

Hux blushed. He was glad Ren wasn’t looking at him.

“I do it for the team. Nothing more.”

“If you hadn’t pushed me to come back to the kitchen, I’d never have got my grandfather’s knife back,” Ren said in a breath. “Or put out the dish that I did”

“On that topic,” interrupted Hux, wanting to change the subject a little, “you need to show me how you did that presentation. I’d love to know.”

“It’s a secret,” Ren replied, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Hux rolled his eyes.

“In that case, you could do a special dish with it for the restaurant. I think the customers would love that.”

“You really think so?”

Hux nodded.

“If you learn how to cook duck in the meantime,” he added with a mocking smile.

“My duck was perfectly cooked!” growled Ren before he realised that it was only banter. He dipped his head. “Well. Doesn’t change that it was perfectly cooked,” he added with a finger pointed towards Hux.

His face shone with defiance and for a second, Hux asked himself what should happen if he kissed him, there, just like that. After all, Phasma was asleep and… he turned away. He had promised himself to not try anything before the tournament ended. He wasn’t going to ruin his plan only a few hours later. He had more self-control than that.

The conversation got back on track. They talked about their opponents and what they planned to do for the next trial. Then, Ren said he was tired after a sleepless night worrying about his knife. He lay down on the bench, the soles of his shoes only a few centimetres from Hux’s legs. Hux kept as close as he could to the wall of the shuttle, and wore an expression of disgust. From the corner of his eye, he noticed how Ren had contorted his tall form into such a narrow space. It looked highly uncomfortable. But that didn’t stop him from falling asleep in a fairly short time. Hux raised his eyes to the ceiling – on top of all his other faults, Ren snored!

Hux cursed his dreadful taste in men.

 

***

 

The next two days passed without Hux really noticing. With the tournament, he had got quite a way behind in his usual planning, and he had to take care of a few things with the restaurant. He checked that menus were up to date, that orders had been well put together and well received; he went through the articles about the challenges and how their performance could be a great publicity coup, and a thousand other things that left him too tired to even think about Ren. They hadn’t seen each other since they disembarked the shuttle, as they’d been working on different schedules.

It wasn’t too bad, this break. It gave Hux the opportunity to take things more slowly. On principle. He certainly didn’t feel he’d pushed things forward very much.

So he was surprised when, on the second evening, Chef Snoke invited him to a meeting. He didn’t even know that the old chef had come back to the  _ Finalizer _ , and he hadn’t spoken to him for several days, not even over comlink. It was as if the chef proprietor of the restaurant had completely stopped caring about the tournament which could be so crucial for the image of the establishment. Hux tried not to think too much about what this lack of interest could signify, but he couldn’t shake off the worry that was pushing little by little into his brain. Something wasn’t right about all this, he was sure. However, he couldn’t confront his boss and mentor about it directly. Perhaps Snoke would explain things himself.

He knocked vigorously on the door, his most flawless jacket on his back. Nobody else would notice the difference between his jackets, but he knew.

Snoke bade him come in, and he entered the dark room and stationed himself in front of the old chef’s large mahogany desk. Snoke claimed to suffer from migraines and his work space was dark compared to the bright kitchens of the ship and the modern lines of its public rooms. 

“Chef Snoke,” Hux said in greeting. He stayed standing, in his usual pose with his hands crossed behind his back.

“Chef Hux. It’s been a long time since we’ve had the chance to meet. And it’s in large part my fault. I took advantage of the large number of people to do a little networking – make some new contacts that could be useful to the future of the  _ Finalizer _ .”

Hux nodded. So that was why Snoke had been deep in conversation during all the challenges. Hux was curious, but it wasn’t his place to ask questions. If the chef had something to tell him, he would do it himself.

“In the first place,” Snoke continued, “I must congratulate you on your victory on the last leg. And for the way in which you managed your team during a rather difficult period.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Hux felt a little lighter. At least his efforts were being noticed. 

“I certainly recognised in you the man to whom I entrusted my kitchens.”

“And I thank you for the confidence you have in me, Chef.”

“Good, good. On that subject, I have instructions concerning the next trial. It will take place on Endor, and will last two days. You leave the day after tomorrow.”

Hux had trouble keeping his expression neutral. Two days? On Endor? But what were they going to do for so long in this tail end of the galaxy? It certainly wasn’t for fun.

“Very well, Chef,” he answered.

He had to follow orders.

“As far as the team roster, that remains unchanged,” Snoke added.

This time, Hux couldn’t avoid raising his eyebrows. “But, Chef, Phasma is injured, and…”

Snoke shut him up with a look. “You do realise, Chef Hux, that even in your absence, the restaurant is still open and customers are still flocking in?”

Well, of course he realised that. He was the one who’d organised everything so that things would go as serenely as possible.

“Yes, Chef,” was all he could say.

“In that case, you must know that it will be impossible for me to change plans without creating a huge mess for the kitchens.”

Hux was sure that he would have managed to put something in place, but he couldn’t take the initiative without Snoke’s say-so.

“If you allow me,” he began, “I could…”

Snoke cut him off without listening. “This is why I have confidence in you to find something for Phasma to do, even in her current injured state. That will be all, Chef, and good luck for the next stage.”

Hux gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. What was all that about? It was ridiculous! It was as if Snoke wanted to knife them in the back. He couldn’t possibly make Phasma cook with one hand short, and with two against three it would be very difficult to win. If the test was scheduled over two days, that meant the judges must be planning something huge. He stared at Snoke for a few seconds, trying to guess what was hidden behind his black ageless eyes. He saw nothing there.

So, he saluted and left.

He paced the long, cold corridors of the  _ Finalizer _ with furious strides. Snoke was hiding something from him and he did not appreciate it. He made a great effort not to punch the nearest wall. If he’d been Ren, he would have probably destroyed a whole section. But he wasn’t Ren and so he had to be content with controlling his anger instead of letting it all out. Even though the idea of finding a deserted part of the ship and letting out a scream appealed to him more and more.

His comlink rang. Some people had a dreadful sense of timing. He reckoned he’d enjoy taking out his nerves on the person calling him. He sighed when he saw it was a message from Ren. Of course. It could only have been him. After two days of complete silence, now he showed up!

All to ask him to meet up in one of the ship’s kitchens. Well, asking in a looser sense. Ren didn’t seem to leave him much choice in the matter. Hux supposed he must have broken something again. If so, that would give him a good target for his own frustration and anger.

He made an about turn and, already feeling lighter, set off.

He was surprised that Ren had asked him to meet in one of the kitchens that was unused at this time of day. The  _ Finalizer _ was so large that several kitchens served the different dining rooms according to the meal being served. Here they were in an area where breakfasts were prepared. Which meant that it had been cleaned hours ago, and nobody was around, not even an assistant. All the lights were out except for one, right at the back of the kitchen, behind a swing door.

Hux walked down the dark corridor with a little apprehension. What could Ren want, making him come to such a deserted part of the ship, so late at night. Was this where he’d reveal his secret plan, and stab Hux with his grandfather’s knife in order to steal his place as head chef of the restaurant? Hux didn’t dare dream of any other explanation. Well, he’d soon see.

He pushed open the door. Ren looked up.

“At last, you’re here!”

“At last?” Hux said, indignantly. “I came as soon as I got your message.”

“Really?”

“The ship is very big, you know,” Hux reminded him, sarcastically.

Ren nodded, but didn’t answer. Hux came closer. There didn’t seem to be any damage to the room. Just a huge load of washing up in the sink, and a good smell which got the General’s stomach going. He hadn’t eaten since the morning. Grazing during service was not the done thing, for him.

“Come and sit down!” Ren said, with an encouraging smile.

It was an expression Hux had never seen on him, and he found it rather confusing. Ren seemed impatient, but it was a positive impatience, like a child waiting for its birthday present.

Still distrustful, he took a few more steps forward to see that Ren had turned a big box upside down to make an improvised chair next to a stainless steel table. Between Phasma who parked her arse on her work table, and Ren who gave him an old plastic box of dubious hygiene to use as a stool, Hux wondered if he was the only one of the three who had heard of the practical and civilised object known as a chair.

But Ren was looking at him with such… hope? worry? that Hux stopped wanting to complain. He did make a slight noise as his butt met the hard surface of the box, though. He’d known more comfortable seats. 

“Right then, what’s all this about?” he asked, in an icy tone, his eyebrows in a frown and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve no idea?”

Hux rolled his eyes. No, he hadn’t the slightest idea what this big idiot had in his head. But he definitely wasn’t going to show him that it all had his heart beating a little faster.

“I thought you’d broken something again,” he said.

Ren nodded, but his smile widened. He was getting almost worrying. Especially as Hux had just noticed the bright blade of Vader’s knife, on a table not far away.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Ren said, moving away from the table. 

Hux stretched his neck to see if he could see what he’d made, but no luck. Standing up to sneak a peek would not have been discreet.

“I made you dinner!” Ren said, bringing a plate on which was the famous shell of meat just like he’d used on the previous leg of the competition.

“You… what?” cried Hux, unable to stop the greatest disbelief from writing itself on his face.

“I wanted you to taste my cooking. Really. So I remade my duck dish.” 

He put the plate down in front of Hux, with a delicate touch Hux had never seen before. The little jug of sauce appeared by his hand. Hux didn’t react at all for a few seconds. He was expecting pretty much anything except for this. Was this Ren’s constant thirst for attention and praise, or something else? He decided to follow the taller chef’s plan. In any case, he was starving hungry.

He took the jug and poured it on the shell, and once again the magic happened. It opened in two, and in a few seconds, the dish was there in all its majesty. Even with the plate under his nose, and watching carefully, Hux still had no idea how Ren had done it. He’d have to find a way to get the secret out of him.

Pillow talk? suggested a tiny voice in his head.

Hux ordered the tiny voice to shut it.

He looked at Ren, who had his chin in his hands and a real smile on his lips. Not the mocking grin he often wore. No, this was an expression of genuine satisfaction.

“Not bad, eh?” he said, encouraging Hux to say something.

“I admit,” he said, it’s still very impressive.

Ren’s face lit up, and Hux went back to analysing the dish.

“I wasn’t sure it was going to work during the tournament,” Ren admitted. “I only knew the theory. But now I think I really do understand it.”

“So where did you find this technique?” Hux asked, hoping to get something useful out of the discussion.

“Snoke gave me some notebooks that belonged to my grandfather. It was in there.”

Obviously, thought Hux. It always comes back to the grandfather. Even if the idea that new Vader recipes had been found on the _Finalizer_ _did_ tickle his brain somewhat. It would be amazing to be able to…

“You’re not going to taste it?” Ren said, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Hux raised his hands. “With what? With my fingers?”

Ren blushed as he realised he’d forgotten the cutlery. He got up from his box. “Ah, sorry! Shit! Sorry, I’ll…”

He went to search in a drawer. Hux took advantage of Ren’s back being turned to let himself smile. Whatever he did, the big idiot always made a mistake somewhere or other. It was almost touching.  _ Almost _ .

When Ren returned, Hux had controlled his emotions. He took the oyster fork and steak knife that Ren offered.

“It’s all I could find,” Ren mumbled. 

Hux reckoned that it would do, and he was too hungry to start making trouble. Ren’s dish smelled as good as it looked.

He cut a piece of duck breast and dipped it in the sauce before putting it in his mouth. He took his time to chew and analyse all the flavours and textures. He knew Ren was watching him, trying to read what he was tasting and thinking. In fact, the taller cook was leaning towards him so far that he was almost flat out across the table, his fists clenched in front to him in an effort to hide his nerves.

Hux decided to play with his nerves a bit. He’d keep him hanging on before giving the verdict. Just for fun. He did so enjoy teasing Ren.

“And you? You’re not eating?” he said, cutting the top from the tower of garlic potatoes. They, too, were very very good, despite what Skywalker had said.

“I’m not hungry. I cooked for you.”

Hux took a leaf of salad. Crisp, fresh, and well seasoned. Then he took the little white tuile that covered the meat. He shook his head.

“You and your petit suisse cream cheese,” he said.

Ren rolled his eyes. “That’s the first time I’ve used any petit suisse in one of my recipes. You were the one who brought it up first,” he said. “I don’t know where you got it from but…”

Hux’s laugh surprised both of them. Ren stopped speaking and looked at him, his eyebrows raised and his mouth hesitant.

Hux put his hand over his own mouth. It was the first time in a long while that he’d been given to an outburst of amusement. But Ren’s outraged face had been too much for him. And he was already very tired and on his nerves after his meeting with Snoke. Yes, that’s what it was.

He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths to calm the butterflies in his stomach.

“Even if it isn’t good, at least it’s amused you,” said Ren, a little tartly.

Hux looked at him. Ren had his arms folded and a childish expression on his face. He must have thought Hux was laughing at him. He had been, a little bit, but not in the way Ren had taken it, And now he was annoyed.

His wanted to reach out his hand and touch him. He didn’t, though. “Your dish was good, he said, finally. “Very good.”

He carried on tasting and eating. Ren raised his head, though he still had a slight pout.

“It’s probably better than mine,” Hux admitted after a few more mouthfuls. He trailed the tines of his fork through the sauce. His father would have hated that.

“They gave you low marks,” he said, as honestly as possible. “The duck was perfectly cooked and the garlic potatoes were perfectly seasoned. Frankly, I didn’t find a single fault. You even managed to make petit suisse interesting,” he added with a discreet smile, which Ren copied.

They sat there for a few silent seconds during which Hux wondered if he should take Ren’s hand, or slide his foot onto his. Or both.

His indecision was cut short when Ren spoke. “Your dish was better. I followed your advice and I remade the dish, taking into account Skywalker’s criticism. I didn’t cooked the duck for as long, and added less garlic to the potatoes. That’s why you liked it. But the other day, your dish was better.”

Hux finished his last mouthful. He had tasted everything. He only wished he’d had a little bit of bread to mop up the last of the sauce.

“I wonder if this is the start of you behaving in a constructive and adult fashion,” he said.

Ren sniffed. “I didn’t say I was going to make a habit out of it.”

He casually tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, and Hux watched, fascinated.

“What a shame,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Well, you ought to carry on that way. For example, don’t forget to do your washing up.”

Hux got up from the box, He had to leave. Fast. The atmosphere was too intimate. He would end up making a mistake.

Ren glanced at the heap of washing up and pulled a face. “We have kitchen porters and commis chefs for that,” he complained. 

“Commis chefs who are paid to prepare the breakfasts. Not to help clear up other people’s mess.”

Ren sighed, but got up anyway and dragged his feet to the full sink. “Are you sure you don’t want to…” he said, turning towards Hux.

“What? Help you? Certainly not!”

Him and Ren, next to each other, their hands brushing together under the water – he could only imagine too well how that would go. He’d rather come across as a stuck up bastard then risk shattering the fragile team cohesion. After the tournament, he’d see. After the tournament.

Ren grumbled and set the water running. Hux went for the exit. At the door, he stopped.

“Ren?”

Ren put down the pan he’d just picked up. “Yes?”

“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious and… I had a very nice time,” he admitted.

He didn’t wait to see how the other chef had reacted.

 

***

 

He spend the next days preparing for his absence from the restaurant and the trip to Endor. He also had to let Phasma know that she was going with them after all, on Snoke’s command, and even thought she was somewhat surprised by the news, she had promised that she would find something useful to do.

He hadn’t had the time to go and see Ren in person and was happy to send a message with what he knew about the next trial. Ren had replied with a simple “ok” and that had been that.

Their departure took place during night shift, after Hux finished service, and as soon as they’d taken off, they were all three asleep in the same positions as on the return from D’Qar – Phasma stretched out on one bench, Ren curled up in a corner of the other, and Hux sitting up on the other end, avoiding as best he could Ren’s dirty shoes.

He wouldn’t have been having this problem if he’d suggested that Ren could use his lap as a pillow, as he’d been thinking before he had second thoughts. After the tournament, he told himself, yet again.

When he woke up, he had a sore neck, so stretched as well as he could to relax his muscles. He checked the time. They were approaching Endor. He had slept better than he’d been expecting. 

He turned to find Ren sitting up, back to the wall, reading a book. An actual book. Hux blinked. Everybody these days used data pads and he hadn’t seen anyone with a paper book for a very long time.

Hux stood up without a word. Phasma was still asleep and he didn’t want to wake her up. These last few days had been difficult for her, too. And certainly painful.

He went to the tiny refresher at the back of the shuttle to relieve his bladder. He knew Ren had watched him but he didn’t say anything. After washing his hands and his face, he came back out of the toilets. He’d even had time to comb his hair. He still hadn’t got back the comb he’d thrown at Ren, but he had spares in his quarters on board the  _ Finalizer _ . Still, he did wonder what Ren had done with his comb, since from all available evidence he hadn’t used it on his own hair.

When he passed Ren on the way back, curiosity got the better of him. This book he was reading seemed to be very old. It was yellowed and dog eared, as if it had been well used. He knelt down next to him.

“What are you reading?”

Ren looked at him with shining eyes, as if he’d hoped to be asked that.

“It’s one of my grandfather’s books,” he said. “The ones I was talking about the other evening.”

Hux was torn. One one hand he wanted to roll his eyes dramatically because it was clear that Ren had wanted him to be interested in the book he was reading. It was a chance to bang on about his grandfather again. On the other, he really did want to know what was in the book. Most cooks would have killed their mother and father for a chance to read Vader’s notes. There must be recipes and techniques in there that Hux had never even heard of, such as the moving presentation that Ren had done. He felt the tips of his fingers itching. He’d never have another chance like this,

“Can I take a look?” he asked, leaning towards Ren to try to catch a glimpse of the pages.

Ren watched, hesitant. His fingers were tight on the cover of the notebook. What was he afraid of? That Hux would run off with it? He wouldn’t get far. Around them was the vacuum of space. And if he didn’t want Hux to see it, he shouldn’t have got it out to read.

“I won’t damage it,” Hux said. “ I’ll be careful. You know I’m the most careful and meticulous person in the galaxy.”

That was something Ren couldn’t deny. He seemed uncertain for a few more seconds and then offered the book to Hux, who took it, very carefully.

Once he had it in his hand, Hux thought he’d go back to his own seat. But Ren’s gaze weighed heavily on him and he decided to stay there, next to him, in case he needed to ask anything. He slid to the ground and sat there. It wasn’t any more uncomfortable than the bench seat. And that seemed to calm Ren, who leant over his shoulder to read with him.

Hux didn’t know how long he stayed there, buttocks on the ground, reverently turning the pages of Vader’s notebook, Ren right by him. They were silent the whole time. Hux would raise his head to see if Ren was ready to turn the page. It was an oddly peaceful, studious atmosphere, of the sort he’d never have imagined sharing in the company of the other cook.

In the book, Vader described different game meats that he’d tried on his galactic voyages. Some were edible immediately, some needed slow cooking or marinade, some had flesh poisonous to humans. And Hux realised that despite the trips he’d been on as a younger man, there were many species he’d never heard of and that he had no idea of the flavour. He made an effort to memorise the names of the animals and the planets. He never took holidays as such. What would he do? Visit his parents? He’d rather be in the kitchen of his restaurant, sweating blood and water for fifteen hours a day. But the idea of a gastronomic trip seemed rather good. He hadn’t made such a trip for a long time, and to follow in the footsteps of Vader didn’t seem like a bad idea at all. And it would really annoy Ren!

Phasma’s voice brought them back to reality.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two so quiet,” she said, not hiding her amusement at all. “Five minutes I’ve been watching you, and not a sound, not a threat, not an insult.”

Ren sat up. He’d been so absorbed that his chin had almost been resting on Hux’s shoulder. Hux hadn’t complained.

“I don’t know what you’re reading, but it seems rather interesting,” she added, standing up and stretching her long arms. One of her hands was still wrapped in a heavy bandage and she would only just be able to use it.

“Recipes,” Ren answered, drily. “Not desserts, though,” he added, to let her know that there was nothing to interest her in the book.

She didn’t insist. Hux smiled, discreetly. Apparently, he was the only one who Ren would allow to read what must be one of his most precious treasures. In order not to lose his trust, he offered the book back to Ren, who put it back in his bag, with a nod. Hux knew that if he asked, Ren would let him read Vader’s notebooks again.

His backside now sore from having been sitting on the floor for too long, he sat back on his seat. In less than an hour they’d be on Endor.

“Dunno about you,” Phasma said, gathering her things, “but I’m starving hungry.” With her good hand, she rummaged in her bag. “What did you bring for breakfast?” she asked.

Hux shrugged. He hadn’t brought anything. He could last a long time without eating and he was sure there’d be something served when they arrived.

“I’ve got bread, cheese and fruit,” she continued, laying out her treasures on the bench.

“I’ve got bread and crackers,” Ren said, pulling a packet out of his bag. “Nuts, and also…” he turned towards Hux and smiled, “Especially for you because I know you like them…” and he pulled out a pack of petit suisse pots and offered them to Hux, who rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and shook his head. He knew he’d spend his years wishing he’d never mentioned petit suisse.

“And this time, I didn’t forget… the cutlery!” Ren said, throwing him a teaspoon.

Hux caught it and bit his lip to stop himself from smiling too much, especially as Ren was beaming and seemed rather proud of himself. What an idiot.

Phasma looked from one to the other. “Something tells me I’ve missed an episode, here,” she said. When neither answered her, she shrugged.

Hux opened a pot of petit suisse and took a spoonful. He pulled a face. It wasn’t exactly great. He nicked a few blueberries from Phasma and some nuts from Ren, and added them to the pot. That ought to improve things.

“Oh, look at him,” said Ren to Phasma, his mouth full of cracker. “Incapable of appreciating the simplicity of a petit suisse cream cheese.”He’s a snob,” she answered, and bit into an apple. “The sort who puts parmesan instead of gruyere on his pasta.”

“Parmesan has a different taste, more…” began Hux, but it was obvious they weren’t listening.

“It’s like how he hates broccoli,” Phasma continued. “Oh, truffle, caviar, he’s all about that, but your broccoli…”

“Broccoli is disgusting,” Hux said, finishing off his improved petit suisse.

He thought about throwing the empty pot at Phasma but that would have been very childish. Instead, he took one of Ren’s crackers. After all, this improvised breakfast had not been bad at all. Well, Hux would have rather liked some eggs and a big cup of tea but at least the company had been good, in its own way.

Suddenly the shuttle slowed and a blue and green planet appeared in the viewports.

“We’re here!” Phasma said.

Hux sat on her side of the shuttle to watch Endor get bigger and bigger in the transparisteel viewport. He sighed.

“What is it?” asked Ren, who had followed him. They were all sitting on the same side now.

“Endor!” said Hux, wrinkling his nose. “There’s nothing down there. I wonder what they’re going to have us do.”

“It’s true. I’m not really looking forward to it. I’d hoped we’d end up on Naboo or Coruscant. I’ve never been there.”

“Well, I’m not surprised, actually,” Ren said. “Endor is an important planet for Skywalker. It must have been him who chose it.”

Phasma and Hux turned towards him, waiting for him to explain further.

“It’s where my grandfather’s ashes are scattered,” he said.

Hux frowned. He knew that it was on the approach to Endor that Palpatine had begun building the large restaurant that had ended up ruining his career and which Vader was going to run, but he didn’t know the legendary chef had been so attached to the planet.

“According to what my fath… Han Solo told me, it was on board the deserted restaurant where my grandfather died. My uncle Luke found him. He brought him to Endor and had him cremated. Since then, Endor is a special place for my family. My mother brought me here a few times when I was little, to pay our respects to my grandfather.”

He shut up when he realised his story had brought miserable expressions to his companions’ faces.

“So, what can we do on Endor,” said Phasma, running her good hand through her hair.

“Dive into Skywalker family drama,” Hux said. “It’s even worse than I imagined.”

They both sat back against the wall of the shuttle.

“In fact,” Ren said, realising he had sapped their morale a little, “when we came to pay our respects, we used to have a big family picnic. My grandfather was a chef first and foremost. Our get-togethers weren’t all sad.”

Hux sighed. Ren had tried to save things but he still felt that he was going to regret every day spent on Endor. The Skywalker-Organa-Solo clan really were going to be the end of him. He could almost hear his father’s voice, telling him to be careful of these people, that Vader was the only one of the bunch to really achieve anything, etc, etc. If he knew that Hux wanted to take the worst of the lot of them to bed, he’d probably have a heart attack.

After the tournament, his brain reminded him.

Yes, yes, he answered himself, with an annoyance that he usually saved for Ren.

Then he started wondering if the forthcoming challenge would be some sort of homage to Vader. It all seemed to point in that direction. He glanced at Ren’s bag, in which the famous notebooks lay. Well. It might not be as bad as all that, if…

Ren’s voice interrupted the thread of his thoughts.

“There are plenty of good things that come from Endor,” he insisted, looking towards Phasma who had her big mouth wide open in mock agony. “According to my uncle Lando, I was conceived there.”

Hux couldn’t hold back a raucous laugh. “Oh, yes, that’s a weighty argument,” he said. 

Ren seemed annoyed. He pouted, turned his back and pulled his knees up to his chin. Hux pulled a face. What a child!

“No, seriously, Ren, I don’t want to think about your parents getting it on in the forest.”

That made Phasma start giggling. 

Ren shook his head, but his face lightened up somewhat. “I believe,” he said, “that it’s also where my uncle Luke and uncle Wedge got together.”

Hux and Phasma exchanged a look, as if each were asking the other if they’d heard right.

“What?” asked Hux, finally.

“My uncle Luke and my uncle Wedge.” Ren repeated, as if that were proof enough.

“Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles?” asked Hux again, just to be sure.

Ren shrugged. “It’s because he’s with my uncle Luke that uncle Wedge is my uncle.”

“But since when?” Phasma asked.

Ren hesitated. “I don’t really know. But since before I was born.”

Hux laughed. “And Phasma found him rather charming. You’ll have to search elsewhere,” he said.

She gave him the middle finger. “Well, anyway, I do notice one thing,” she said, “and that’s that Endor is the place for love, for the Skywalker family.” And she underlined her words with a big fat wink in Hux’s direction. 

Hux shook his head. Fortunately, Ren had seen nothing of the exchange. His eyes were fixed on the planet which now occupied almost all of the viewport. His hands were folded and his legs agitated. He had the beginning of a smile.

“You like that planet,” Hux said, turning towards him.

“No!” Ren denied, rather brusquely. “No,” he repeated. “It’s just that I haven’t paid my respects to my grandfather for a long time.”

“Hmm…”

Hux thought that, as always, Ren was trying to minimise his feelings. But it was clear on his face that he was eager to step onto the soil of Endor. Hux had no problem imagining a mini Ren, back when he was still Ben, running around among ferns taller than he was, throwing himself into the arms of the little bears who populated the forests. And it was a vision as laughable as it was heartwarming. Hux hoped Ren wasn’t going to let himself get carried away by the emotions that swept over him every time the topic of his family was brought up. And here, they were going to be right in amongst it all.

The pilot announced their entry into the atmosphere. Everyone went back to their own seats and fastened their belts.

 

***

 

It was Wedge Antilles who came to meet them. And Hux wouldn’t stop himself imagining him and Skywalker, frolicking among the tall trees. He shook his head. But why had Ren mentioned it? Now it was all he could think of when he saw the two men next to each other.

Well, it would at least be a distraction. Because just as he’d feared, their stay on Endor was already mortifying. Like in his worst nightmare, they’d been billeted in an Ewok village and the furry little creatures were everywhere, watching them.

Hux thought again of Vader’s notebooks and wondered if there was any mention there of the best way to cook an Ewok.

Phasma, for her part, seemed to be finding the whole thing very funny.

“If I put my feet in their mouths, I could make a pair of furry boots,” she said, laughing.

Hux hoped none of the Ewok spoke Basic. He didn’t want to end up with a spear in his backside.

Ren walked a little in front, his big nose in the air, breathing the scents of nature. He tried to hide his emotion, but as always failed completely. His mouth was in a half-smile and he walked an almost graceful path in the middle of the hairy tribe who chattered all around them.

“Do you speak Ewok?” Hux asked.

The question seemed to surprise Ren.

“No, why?”

Hux shrugged. “I don’t know. You spent time here as child. You might have learned it.”

“No. I knew a few words but it was a long time ago. I speak Wookiee much better than Ewok.”

He bit his lip, realising what he’d said, and seeing amusement on Hux’s face.

“And no, I’m not going to give you a demonstration,” he added, blushing and suddenly upping his pace. An Ewok, caught by surprise, was almost tangled up in the long black scarf that Ren was wearing.

Hux sped up too. This was an opportunity he couldn’t let pass him by. “Oh, please.” 

“No.”

“Just a word.”

“No!”

“An insult!” he suggested. “Insult me in Wookiee! That can’t be too hard, can it?”

Ren stopped and turned. “Seriously?”

Hux nodded. He had just wanted to laugh at Ren a bit, but part of him was genuinely curious. He’d never heard a human speaking Wookiee. Understanding it, yes. Speaking was far rarer.

Ren sighed. “It’s not just to take the piss out of me?” he asked.

Hux put on his best pinched expression. “You really think that’s my style…”

“Your way of pulling my leg? Yes, totally.”

Hux pulled a face. He wasn’t going to deny it – he would have no credibility there.

They stared at each other for several long seconds, and finally Ren let loose a guttural growl which made several nearby Ewoks flee.

Hux had difficulty hiding his glee. He bit the inside of his cheeks to avoid smiling too broadly. Ren was bright red and avoided his eyes. He seemed to be busy counting the twigs on the ground, or something like that.

“You’d say that was a real one.”

“A real what?”

“A real Wookiee.”

Ren shrugged, but in his eyes was great satisfaction at having impressed Hux.

“I started learning when I was little,” he said.

“With your uncle Chewie?”

“Yes.”

“Speaking of your uncle… Where are…”

Hux turned around and realised that they’d lost Antilles and Phasma. 

“They can’t be far,” said Ren. “Ewok villages aren’t very far apart. Come on.”

They kept on walking in the same direction they’d been going in before.

“And what did you say to me?”

“I called you an asshole,” Ren said, nonchalantly.

Hux smiled. He would have been disappointed if it had been anything else.

They reached a large clearing where a technical team were busy putting up spectator stands. So that’s where the audience would be the next day. Hux looked all around but couldn’t see any work or structure that suggested a kitchen. That must not have been put up yet.

He also noted giant screens and camera. He knew that the competition was broast on the Holonet, but up until now the broadcast equipment was carefully camouflaged within the restaurant building. Having it out in the open and visible made him feel all the more conscious of the fact that millions of people were following the trials. And they’d seen Ren’s nonsense. He felt something rather like stress in his belly. He resolved to push it away with all his force of will.

“I’m wondering what they’ve got us doing here for two days,” Ren said.

“Perhaps a homage to Vader,” Hux suggested, thinking again of the idea that had come to him on the shuttle.

Ren turned to him with bright eyes. “You reckon?”

“Why bring us here otherwise?”

Ren sighed. “If Skywalker’s chosen this trial it could be anything. But not a homage to Vader. My uncle hates my grandfather’s cooking style. He thinks he lost his way.”

“It’s well known that your uncle has a particular ideas about cooking,” Hux answered. “All these hippie things with root vegetables and goat cheese…”

Hux observed the forest around them. All these tall trees, all this nature. He had a very bad feeling about this test. 

“My uncle never served goats cheeses!” Ren said. Then he leant towards Hux, his head next to Hux’s, looking at him as if he was trying to read his thoughts. “Goats cheese, petit suisse… sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head.”

“You have no idea,” Hux answered, imagining his hand on Ren’s crotch. “You have no idea.”

“Hey, lads!”

Phasma’s voice brought them back to earth. They looked around and couldn’t see her at all – and she was a massive blonde wearing a sequined T shirt.

“Up here!”

Raising their eyes, they found her, leaning on the side barrier of a huge wooden walkway that zigzagged through the trees between rudimentary wooden cabins. They rays of the sun glinted from her sequins.

“I think we’d better climb up,” said Ren.

“Kill me now,” said Hux, as he saw the thatched roofs under which he imagined mattresses of ferns. He’d slept somewhere like this before, and didn’t have good memories of it. And he’d been fifteen years younger, then.

“Don’t give me ideas,” answered Ren with a grin as he grabbed the rope ladder that took them to the upper levels.

Hux sighed and followed. At least the ascent would allow him to discreetly ogle Ren’s backside. So there was that.

Once up, Phasma round them. Apparently, Antilles had a lot of things to organise, and had left them to themselves.

“I was worried you two might get lost in a dark corner of the forest,” she said.

Hux shot her a dark look, but Ren let it pass him completely by.

“I know this area well,” he said. “We wouldn’t have got lost.”

Phasma rolled her eyes. Hux shrugged.

“Antilles showed me our… hut?” she said. “I’ll take you there.” 

She brought them up to a little round cabin. The interior was almost as primitive as Hux had feared. There was a kind of wood burning stove in the middle but it wasn’t lit. At least the mattresses weren’t made of dried ferns, but animal skins. It was rustic, but a little more comfortable than Hux had been expecting.

All the other furniture must have been removed to give them space to put their things, but there were wooden tools hanging on the walls, which must have been there as decoration. Not seeing a toilet, Hux asked himself if they were supposed to piss off the side of the platform, or what. He didn’t ask Phasma. He’d see later with Ren. He’d know the local customs.

Phasma had already put her bag on the leftmost mattress. Ren did the same with the one on the right. Hux took the one at the back. At least he was furthest from the door. He didn’t know what sort of creatures lived in these forests, but he’d prefer that Phasma and Ren were the first to meet them.

“And now?” he asked, hands on hips.

“Antilles said something about a party, or something like that,” answered Phasma.

“The Ewok like celebrations,” Ren confirmed. “They must have got something ready for our arrival”.

Hux held back a sigh. And now they were going to spend the evening listening to teddy bears playing the tambourine. Well, evening… with this damned time difference, though they’d only been up for two hours, night was falling on Endor. He didn’t know how he was going to get to sleep. And they’d have to be fresh tomorrow morning for the start of the challenges.

He didn’t see how things could get worse.

“Hey! You’re here!”

Poe Dameron had just poked his head round the door of the hut.

Hux had to make a correction. Things could always be worse.

“Have you seen this incredible place!” he enthused, entering the room, without being invited.

“And the Ewoks are totally adorable,” added the Girl, who had just followed him.

The Traitor was with her, but he didn’t say anything.

“Have you been here a long time, or did you just get here?” Phasma asked. She seemed the only one who wanted to socialise with them. Ren had the same restrained air as Hux.  

“Just a few hours,” Dameron said. “We’ve already been round the village and made some new Ewok friends. They’re just preparing a barbecue for us – it looks great. It’s going to be an unforgettable evening.”

The Girl agreed with a beaming smile. “They’ve got a little orchestra. It’ll be brilliant.”

Hux wondered if they also had a good store of alcohol. He never liked to lose control, and was only an occasional drinker – but survival in the face of trumpet-playing teddy bears and the combined forces of the _Petite_ _Resistance_ kitchen brigade called for desperate, and double, measures. Though, actually, even if they did offer him a brim full glass of the local hooch, he wouldn’t touch it because of the tournament. Always the tournament…

“Do you know what we’re all doing here?” he asked.

Their opponents might be better informed than they were. After all, they were working for Skywalker’s sister.

“You mean the challenge?” asked Poe, a little on the defensive.

“Yes, the challenge.”

Dameron shook his head. “All we know, it’s that it’s going to be over two whole days. Nothing more. And you?”

“No, nothing more than that,” Hux answered.

“Look, if they knew anything, they wouldn’t tell us,” grumbled the Traitor.

Hux wondered if the Traitor was annoyed about having been beaten in both previous challenges.

“Oh, they would, they are quite fair,” said the Girl, giving him a dig with her elbow. “They didn’t take the extra half hour, the last time.”

She looked at Ren. “Thank you for that,” she said. “You beat us anyway, I can’t imagine if you’d had more time!”

Ren seemed awfully embarrassed. He blushed and looked away. “It was nothing,” he mumbled so quietly as to almost be inaudible.

Hux felt his hands clenching and his nails digging into his palms. And something that felt like a punch in the stomach. He wanted to throw the whole  _ Petite Resistance  _ team out of the hut. They had no business here!

But he made himself take some deep breaths. He was being silly and irrational. He didn’t have to be, what,  _ jealous _ , because Ren had blushed at someone else. It was pathetic. And he was not a pathetic man. Not any more.

He saw that Phasma was watching him, with a slight smile. He ignored her.

“The party’s going to start soon,” Poe said. Shall we show you there?”

“With pleasure,” Phasma said, ushering them to the door.

The Girl and the Traitor followed. After them went Ren, with a sigh and a glance back towards Hux, who decided to follow.

Just as he was about to pass the threshold of the hut, Phasma stopped him with a hand. 

“It’s only that he doesn’t know how to take a compliment,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know!” he said, disentangling himself.

“You do? Really? By the look on your face…”

He didn’t answer her.

“You don’t realise. You don’t see how he looks at you. Or how he only needs the slightest excuse to stand near you…”

He left the hut without waiting for her to finish, He didn't want her to interfere in their business. And no, he hadn’t realised that. Sure, Ren tended to invade his personal space, but he was altogether socially awkward, and so it didn’t mean anything.  _ Was _ he doing it consciously? Hux didn’t know. All he did know was that he couldn’t interact with him without them ending up practically stuck together. And he knew he was at least partially responsible.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

After the tournament, he repeated with as much conviction as he could muster, his jaw clenched so much that he probably wouldn't have been able to open his mouth.

He watched the sun setting on the horizon. From a few metres away, the first few drum beats sounded…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm so excited to have my work translated in English, you have no idea!  
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](http://jesuisbetejesuispatissiere.tumblr.com)
> 
> And don't forget to check the amazing art [Feredir](http://feredir.tumblr.com) drew for this fic [HERE!](http://feredir.tumblr.com/post/143706056934/commission-for-coffee-without-a-pause-of-a-top)


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